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M  ME^ORI 


Charles  Kdward  Kugh 
1867-1938 


Professor  of  Education 
niversity  of  Calif ornik 


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Ethics. 

By    John    Dewey,    Professor    in    Columbia    University,    and 
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By  Francis  A.  Walker. 
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HENRY  HO  LI    Ot  CO.   378  Wabasn  Ave.,  Chicago 


AMERICAN  SCIENCE  SERIES 


ETHICS 


BY 

JOHN  DEWEY 

Professor  of  Philosophy  in  Columbia  University 

AND 

JAMES  H.  TUFTS 

Professor  of  Philosophy  in  the  University  of  Chicago 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1908 


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V 


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COPTRIGHT,  1908, 


BY 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


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PREFACE 

The  significance  of  this  text  In  Ethics  lies  in  Its  effort 
to  awaken  a  vital  conviction  of  the  genuine  reality  "^^^ 
of  moral  problems  and  the  value  of  reflectiv^thought  j- 
in  dealing  with  them.  To  this  purpose  are  subordinated 
the  presentation  in  Part  I.  of  historic  material;  the  dis- 
cussion in  Part  II.  of  the  different  types  of  theoretical 
interpretation,  and  the  consideration,  in  Part  III.,  of  some 
typical,  social,  and  economic  problems  which  characterize 
the  present. 

Experience  shows  that  the  student  of  morals  has  diffi- 
culty in  getting  the  field  objectively  and  definitely  before 
him  so  that  its  problems  strike  him  as  real  problems.  Con- 
duct is  so  Intimate  that  it  is  not  easy  to  analyze.  It  is  so 
important  that  to  a  large  extent  the  perspective  for  re- 
garding it  has  been  unconsciously  fixed  by  early  training. 
The  historical  method  of  approach  has  proved  in  the 
classroom  experience  of  the  authors  an  effective  method 
of  meeting  these  difficulties.  To  follow  the  moral  life 
through  typical  epochs  of  Its  development  enables  students 
to  realize  what  is  involved  in  their  own  habitual  stand- 
points;  it  also  presents  a  concrete  body  of  subject-matter 
which  serves  as  material  of  analysis  and  discussion. 

The  classic  conceptions  of  moral  theory  are  of  re-  / 
markable  importance  In  illuminating  the  obscure  places  ^ 
of  the  moral  life  and  In  giving  the  student  clues  which 
will  enable  him  to  explore  it  for  himself.  But  there  is 
always  danger  of  either  dogmatism  or  a  sense  of  unreality 
when  students  are  Introduced  abruptly  to  the  theoretical 
ideas.     Instead  of  serving  as  tools  for  understanding  the 


iv  PREFACE 

moral  facts,  the  ideas  are  likely  to  become  substitutes  for 
the  facts.  When  they  are  proffered  ready-made,  their 
theoretical  acuteness  and  cleverness  may  be  admired,  but 
their  practical  soundness  and  applicability  are  suspected. 
The  historical  introduction  permits  the  student  to  be 
present,  as  it  were,  at  the  social  situations  in  which  the 
intellectual  instruments  were  forged.  He  appreciates  their 
relevancy  to  the  conditions  which  provoked  them,  and  he 
is  encouraged  to  try  them  on  simple  problems  before  at- 
tempting the  complex  problems  of  the  present.  By  assist- 
ing in  their  gradual  development  he  gains  confidence  in 
the  ideas  and  in  his  power  to  use  them. 

In  the  second  part,  devoted  more  specifically  to  the 
analysis  and  criticism  of  the  leading  conceptions  of  moral 
theory,  the  aim  accordingly  has  not  been  to  instill  the 
notions  of  a  school  nor  to  inculcate  a  ready-made  system, 
but  to  show  the  development  of  theories  out  of  the  prob- 
lems and  experience  of  every-day  conduct,  and  to  suggest 
how  these  theories  may  be  fruitfully  applied  in  practical 
exigencies.  Aspects  of  the  moral  life  have  been  so  thor- 
oughly examined  that  it  is  possible  to  present  certain  prin- 
ciples in  the  confidence  that  they  will  meet  general  ac- 
ceptance. Rationalism  and  hedonism,  for  example,  have 
contributed  toward  a  scientific  statement  of  the  elements 
of  conduct,  even  though  they  have  failed  as  self-inclosed 
and  final  systems.  After  the  discussions  of  Kant  and  Mill, 
Sidgwick  and  Green,  Martineau  and  Spencer,  it  is  possible 
to  affirm  that  there  is  a  place  in  the  moral  life  for  reason 
and  a  place  for  happiness, — a  place  for  duty  and  a  place 
for  valuation.  Theories  are  treated  not  as  incompatible 
rival  systems  which  must  be  accepted  or  rejected  en  hlocy 
but  as  more  or  less  adequate  methods  of  surveying  the 
problems  of  conduct.  This  mode  of  approach  facilitates 
the  scientific  estimation  and  determination  of  the  part 
played  by  various  factors  in  the  complexity  of  moral  life. 
The  student  is  put  in  a  position  to  judge  the  problems  of 


PREFACE  V 

conduct  for  himself.  This  emancipation  and  enlighten- 
ment of  individual  judgment  is  the  chief  aim  of  the 
theoretical  portion. 

In  a  considerable  part  of  the  field,  particularly  in  the 
political  and  economic  portions  of  Part  III.,  no  definitive 
treatment  is  as  yet  possible.  Nevertheless,  it  is  highly 
desirable  to  introduce  the  student  to  the  examination  of 
these  unsettled  questions.  When  the  whole  civilized  world 
is  giving  its  energies  to  the  meaning  and  value  of  justice 
and  democracy,  it  is  intolerably  academic  that  those  in- 
terested in  ethics  should  have  to  be  content  with  conceptions 
already  worked  out,  which  therefore  relate  to  what  is 
least  doubtful  in  conduct  rather  than  to  questions  now 
urgent.  Moreover,  the  advantages  of  considering  theory 
and  practice  in  direct  relation  to  each  other  are  mutual. 
On  the  one  hand,  as  against  the  a  priori  claims  of  both 
individualism  and  socialism,  the  need  of  the  hour  seems 
to  us  to  be  the  application  of  methods  of  more  deliberate 
analysis  and  experiment.  The  extreme  conservative  may 
deprecate  any  scrutiny  of  the  present  order;  the  ardent 
radical  may  be  impatient  of  the  critical  and  seemingly 
tardy  processes  of  the  investigator;  but  those  who  have 
considered  well  the  conquest  which  man  is  making  of  the 
world  of  nature  cannot  forbear  the  conviction  that  the 
cruder  method  of  trial  and  error  and  the  time-honored 
method  of  prejudice  and  partisan  controversy  need  not 
longer  completely  dominate  the  regulation  of  the  life  of 
society.  They  hope  for  a  larger  application  of  the  scien- 
tific method  to  the  problems  of  human  welfare  and  prog- 
ress. Conversely,  a  science  which  takes  part  in  the  actual 
work  of  promoting  moral  order  and  moral  progress  must 
receive  a  valuable  reflex  influence  of  stimulus  and  of  test. 
To  consider  morality  in  the  making  as  well  as  to  dwell 
upon  values  already  established  should  make  the  science 
more  vital.  And  whatever  the  effect  upon  the  subject- 
matter,  the  student  can  hardly  appreciate  the  full  force 


vi  PREFACE 

of  his  materials  and  methods  as  long  as  they  are  kept  aloof 
from  the  questions  which  are  occupying  the  minds  of  his 
contemporaries. 

Teachers  who  are  limited  in  time  will  doubtless  prefer 
to  make  their  own  selections  of  material,  but  the  following 
suggestions  present  one  possible  line  of  choice.  In  Part 
I.,  of  the  three  chapters  dealing  with  the  Hebrew,  Greek, 
and  modern  developments,  any  one  may  be  taken  as  fur- 
nishing an  illustration  of  the  method ;  and  certain  portions 
of  Chapter  IX.  may  be  found  more  detailed  in  analysis 
than  is  necessary  for  the  beginner.  In  Part  II.,  Chapters 
XI.-XII.  may  be  omitted  without  losing  the  thread  of  the 
argument.  In  Part  III.,  any  one  of  the  specific  topics — 
viz.y  the  political,  the  economic,  and  that  of  the  family — 
may  be  considered  apart  from  the  others.  Some  teachers 
may  prefer  to  take  Parts  in  their  entirety.  In  this  case, 
any  two  may  be  chosen. 

As  to  the  respective  shares  of  the  work  for  which  the 
authors  are  severally  responsible,  while  each  has  con- 
tributed suggestions  and  criticisms  to  the  work  of  the 
other  in  sufficient  degree  to  make  the  book  throughout  a 
joint  work.  Part  I.  has  been  written  by  Mr.  Tufts,  Part  II. 
by  Mr.  Dewey,  and  in  Part  III.,  Chapters  XX.  and  XXI. 
are  by  Mr.  Dewey,  Chapters  XXII.-XXVI.  by  Mr.  Tufts. 

It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  no  attempt  has  been  made 
in  the  bibliographies  to  be  exhaustive.  When  the  dates 
of  pubhcation  of  the  work  cited  are  given,  the  plan 
has  been  in  general  to  give,  in  the  case  of  current  litera- 
ture, the  date  of  the  latest  edition,  and  in  the  case  of 
some  classical  treatises  the  date  of  original  publication. 

In  conclusion,  the  authors  desire  to  express  their  in- 
debtedness to  their  colleagues  and  friends  Dr.  Wright, 
Mr.  Talbert,  and  Mr.  Eastman,  who  have  aided  in  the 
reading  of  the  proof  and  with  other  suggestions. 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     Introduction 1 

§1.  Definition  and  Method: — Ethical  and  moral,  specific 
problem,  1 ;  importance  of  genetic  study,  3.  §  2.  Criterion  of 
the  moral: — The  moral  in  cross  section,  the  "what"  and  the 
"how,"  5;  the  moral  as  growth,  8.  §3.  Divisions  of  the 
treatment,  13. 


PART  I 
The  Beginnings  and  Growth  of  Morality 

II.  Early   Group   Life .        .        .17 

§1.  Typical  facts  of  group  life: — Primitive  unity  and 
solidarity,  17.  §2.  Kinship  and  household  groups: — The 
kinship  group,  21 ;  the  family  or  household  group,  23. 
§  3.  Kinship  and  fam,ily  groups  as  economic  and  industrial 
units: — The  land  and  the  group,  24;  movable  goods,  25. 
§4.  Kinship  and  family  groups  as  political  bodies: — Their 
control  over  the  individual,  26;  rights  and  responsibility,  27. 
§5.  The  kinship  or  household  as  a  religious  unit: — Totem 
groups,  30;  ancestral  religion,  31.  §6.  Age  and  sex  groups, 
32.     §  7.     Moral  significance  of  the  group,  34. 

III.  The   Rationalizing  and  Socializing  Agencies  in   Early 

Society 37 

§1,  Three  levels  of  conduct: — Conduct  as  instinctive  and 
governed  by  primal  needs,  regulated  by  society's  standards, 
and  by  personal  standards,  37.  §  2.  Rationalizing  agencies : 
Work,  40 ;  arts  and  crafts,  41 ;  war,  42.  §  3.  Socializing 
agencies  .-^Ilooperation,  42 ;  art,  45.  §  4.  Family  life  as 
idealizing  and  socializing  agency,  47.  §  5.  Moral  interpreta- 
tion of  this  first  level,  49. 

IV.  Group  Morality — Customs  or  Mores 51 

§  1.     Meaning,     authority,     and     origin     of     customs,     51. 

§  2.  Means  of  enforcing  custom : — Public  approval,  taboos, 
rituals,  force,  54.  §  3.  Conditions  ichich  render  group  con- 
trol conscious: — Educational  customs,  57;  law  and  justice, 
59 ;  danger  or  crisis,  64.  §  4.  Values  and  defects  of  custom- 
ary morality: — Standards,  motives,  content,  organization  of 
chai'acter,  68. 


viii  TABLE  OF   CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

V.  From    Custom   to   Conscience;    from    Group    Morality    to 
Personal  Morality 73 

§  1.  Contrast  and  collision,  73.  §  2.  Sociological  agencies 
in  the  transition: — Economic  forces,  76;  science  and  the  arts, 
78;  military  forces,  80;  religious  forces,  81.  §3.  Psycho- 
logical agencies: — Sex,  81;  private  property,  83;  struggles 
for  mastery  and  liberty,  84 ;  honor  and  esteem,  85.  §4.  Posi- 
tive reconstruction,  89. 

VI.  The  Hebrew  Moral  Development  .  .  .  .  .91 
§1.  General  character  and  determining  principles: — The 
Hebrew  and  the  Greek,  91 ;  Political  and  economic  factors,  92. 
§2.  Religious  agencies: — Covenant,  94;  personal  law-giver, 
95;  cultus,  97;  prophets,  99;  the  kingdom,  100.  §3.  Moral 
conceptions  attained: — Righteousness  and  sin,  102;  responsi- 
bility, 104;  purity  of  motive,  105;  the  ideal  of  "life,"  107; 
the  social  ideal,  108. 

VII.  The  Moral  Development  of  the  Greeks    ....  Ill 
§  1.     The  fundamental  notes: — Convention  versus  nature.  111; 
measure,  112;  good  and  just,  113.     §2.    Intellectual  forces 

of  individualism: — The  scientific  spirit,  114.  §3.  Commer- 
cial and  political  individualism: — Class  interests,  119;  why 
obey  laws?  122.  §4.  Individualism  and  ethical  theory: — 
The  question  formulated,  124;  individualistic  theories,  126. 
§  5.  The  deeper  view  of  nature  and  the  good,  of  the  indi- 
vidual and  the  social  order: — Aristotle  on  the  natural,  127; 
Plato's  ideal  state,  129;  passion  or  reason,  131;  eudaemonism 
and  the  mean,  134 ;  man  and  the  cosmos,  135.  §  6.  The  con- 
ception of  the  ideal: — Contrast  with  the  actual,  136;  ethical 
significance,  138.  §  7.  The  conception  of  the  self,  of  char- 
acter and  responsibility: — The  poets,  138;  Plato  and  the 
Stoics,  140. 

VIII.  The  Modern  Period 142 

§  1.  The  mediceval  ideals: — Groups  and  class  ideals,  143;  the 
church  ideal,  145.  §  2.  Main  lines  of  modern  development, 
147.  §  3.  The  old  and  new  in  the  beginnings  of  individual- 
ism, 149.  §  4.  Individualism  in  the  progress  of  liberty  and 
democracy: — Rights,  151.  §5.  Individualism  as  affected  by 
the  development  of  industry,  commerce,  and  art: — Increasing 
power  and  interests,  153;  distribution  of  goods,  157;  indus- 
trial revolution  raises  new  problems,  159.  §  6.  The  individ- 
ual and  the  development  of  intelligence: — The  Renaissance, 
163;  the  Enlightenment,  165;  the  present  significance  of  scien- 
tific method,  167. 

IX.  A    General    Comparison    of    Customary    and    Reflective 

Morality 171 

§1.  Elements  of  agreement  and  continuity: — Regime  of 
custom,   172;  persistence  of  group  morality,  173;  origin  of 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  ix 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

ethical  terms,  175.  §2.  Elements  of  contrast: — Differentia- 
tion of  the  moral,  177;  observing  versus  reflecting,  178;  the 
higher  law,  181 ;  deepening  of  meaning,  182.  §  3.  Opposition 
between  individual  and  social  aims  and  standards: — ^With- 
drawal from  the  social  order,  J  84;  individual  emancipation, 
186.  §  4.  Effects  upon  the  individual  character: — Increased 
possibilities  of  evil  as  well  as  of  good,  187.  §5.  Moral 
diferentiation  and  the  social  order: — Effects  on  the  family, 
193;  on  industry  and  government,  194;  on  religion,  195;  gen- 
eral relation  of  religion  to  morality,  197. 

PART  II 
Theory  of  the  Moral  Life 

X.  The  Moral  Situation 201 

Distinguishing  marks  of  the  moral  situation,  201;  Traits  of 
voluntary  activity,  202;  The  good  and  bad  in  non-voluntary 
behavior,  203;  Indifferent  voluntary  conduct,  205;  The  moral  is 
introduced  when  ends  have  conflicting  values,  207;  Selection 
then  depends  upon,  and  influences,  the  nature  of  the  self, 
209. 

XI.  Problems  of  Moral  Theory 212 

Theory  grows  from  practical  problems,  212;  Three  typical 
problems  of  reflective  practice,  213;  Corresponding  problems 

of  theory,  214;  Their  historical  sequence,  215;  Growth  of  in- 
dividualism, 220;  The  two  types  of  individualism,  221. 

XII.  Types  of  Moral  Theory 224 

§1.  Typical  divisions  of  theories: — Teleological  and  jural, 
.224;  individual  and  institutional,  225;  empirical  and  intui- 
tional, 226.  §  2.  Division  of  voluntary  activity  into  Inner 
and  Outer:— The  "how"  and  the  "what,"  227;  attitude  and 
consequences,  228;  different  types  of  each  theory,  229;  bear- 
ing of  each  theory  upon  problems  of  knowledge  and  of  con- 
trol, 231.  §3.  General  interpretation  of  these  theories: — 
Ordinary  view  of  disposition  and  of  consequences,  232;  ad- 
vantages claimed  for  emphasis  upon  consequences,  234;  for 
emphasis  upon  disposition  or  attitude,  236;  necessity  of  recon- 
ciliation of  these  theories,  237. 

XIII.  Conduct  and  Character 240 

Problem  of  their  relation,  240.  §  1.  The  good  will  of 
Kant : — Emphasis  upon  motive,  241 ;  motive  with  or  without 
consequences,  242;  necessity  of  effort,  243;  overt  action  re- 
quired to  prove  motive,  245.  §  2.  The  "  Intention "  of  the 
Utilitarians: — Emphasis  upon  consequences,  246;  distinction 

of  intention  from  motive,  247;  they  are  really  identical,  248; 
motive  as  blind  and  as  intelligent,  249;  practical  importance 


X  TABLE   OP   CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

of  insistence  upon  consequences,  251;  foresight  of  conse- 
quences depends  upon  motive,  253.  §  3.  Conduct  and  char- 
acter:— The  nature  of  disposition,  254;  partial  and  complete 
intention,  256 ;  complexity  of  motives,  257.  §  4.  Morality  of 
acts  and  of  agents: — Subjective  and  objective  morality,  259; 
the  doer  and  his  deed,  260;  summary,  261. 

XIV.  Happiness  and  Conduct:  The  Good  and  Desire  .  .  263 
Residence  and  nature  of  goodness,  263;  happiness  as  the 
good,  264;  love  of  happiness  as  the  evil,  265;  ambiguity  in 
conception  of  happiness,  266.  §  1.  The  Object  of  Desire : — 
Is  it  pleasure?  269;  desire  presupposes  instinctive  appetites, 
270;  and  objects  of  thought,  271;  happiness  and  desire,  272; 
need  for  standard,  274.  §  2.  The  Conception  of  Happiness 
as  a  Standard: — Utilitarian  method,  275;  Difficulty  of  meas- 
uring pleasure,  276;  character  determines  the  value  of  a 
pleasure,  277;  Mill's  introduction  of  quality  of  pleasure,  279. 
§  3.  The  constitution  of  happiness : — Pleasures  depend  upon 
objects,  281;  they  are  qualitative,  282;  they  vary  with  disposi- 
tion, 283;  happiness  as  the  moral  good,  284. 

^  XV.     Happiness  and  Social  Ends 286 

Utilitarianism  aims  at  social  welfare,  286;  value  as  a  theory 
of  social  reform,  287;  its  aim  conflicts  with  its  hedonistic  the- 
ory of  motive,  289 ;  Bentham's  method  of  reconciling  personal 
and  general  happiness,  291;  Mill's  method,  293;  sympathy 
and  the  social  self,  298;  the  distinctively  moral  interest,  300; 
equation  of  virtue  and  happiness,  301;  moral  democracy,  303. 

XVI.     The    Place    of    Reason    in    the    Moral    Life:    Moral 

Knowledge 306 

§  1.  Problem  of  reason  and  desire: — Nature  of  a  reasonable 
act,  306 ;  theories  about  moral  knowledge,  307.  §  2.  Kant's . 
theory  of  practical  reason: — Traits  of  morality,  309;  reason 
as  a  priori  and  formal,  310;  true  meaning  of  generalization, 
313;  the  general  and  the  social,  314.  §3.  Moral  sense  intui- 
tionalism:— Function  of  reason,  317;  habit  and  sense,  319; 
invalid  intuitions,  321;  deliberation  and  intuition,  322;  the 
good  man's  judgment,  324.  §4.  The  place  of  general  rules: 
— Their  value,  325;  casuistry,  326;  and  its  dangers,  327; 
secondary  ends  of  utilitarianism,  329;  empirical  rules  and 
customs,  330;  distinction  of  rules  and  principles,  333;  sym- 
pathy and  reasonableness,  334. 

K.  XVII.    The  Place  of  Duty  in  the  Moral  Life:  Subjection  to 

Authority 337 

Conflict  of  the  rational  with  the  attractive  end,  337.  §  1. 
The  subjection  of  desire  to  law,  339;  cause  of  conflict  of 
desire  and  thought,  342;  demand  for  transformation  of  desire, 
343;  social  character  of  duties,  345;  the  social  self  is  the 
"universal"  self,  346.    §2.    Kantian  theory: — Accord  with 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS  xi 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

duty  versus  from  duty,  346;  the  two-fold  self  of  Kant,  347; 
criticism  of  Kant,  348;  emphasis  falls  practically  on  political 
authority,  351 ;  "  Duty  for  duty's  sake,"  351.  §  3.  The  Utili- 
tarian theory  of  duty: — The  hedonistic  problem,  353;  Moral 
sanctions,  354;  they  are  too  external,  355;  Bain's  account, 
356 ;  Spencer's  account,  358 ;  such  views  set  up  a  fictitious  non- 
social  self,  361.  §  3.  Final  statement : — Growth  requires  dis- 
agreeable readjustments,  362. 

XVIII.  The  Place  of  the  Self  in  the  Moral  Life        .        .  364 

Problems  regarding  the  self,  364.  §  1.  The  doctrine  of  self- 
denial: — Explanation  of  its  origin,  365;  four  objections  to 
doctrine,  366.  §2.  Self-assertion: — Ethical  dualism,  369; 
"  naturalistic  "  ethics,  369 ;  false  biological  basis,  371 ;  misin- 
terprets nature  of  efficiency,  373.  §  3.  Self-love  and  benevo- 
lence; or  egoism  and  altruism : — The  "  crux  "  of  ethical  specu- 
lation, 375;  are  all  motives  selfish?  376;  ambiguity  of  term 
selfish,  377;  are  results  selfish?  379;  self-preservation,  380; 
rational  regard  for  self,  382;  regard  for  others,  384;  the  ex- 
istence of  "  other-regarding "  impulses,  385 ;  altruism  may 
be  immoral,  387;  social  justice  necessary  to  moral  altruism, 
389.  §  4.  The  good  as  self-realization: — Self-realization  an 
ambiguous  idea,  391;  true  and  false  consideration  of  the  self, 
393;  equation  of  personal  and  general  happiness,  395. 

XIX.  The  Virtues 399 

Introductory — virtue  defined,  399;  natural  ability  and  virtue, 
400;  evolution  of  virtues,  401;  responsibility  for  moral  judg- 
ment, 403;  futility  of  cataloguing  virtues,  402;  their  cardinal 
aspects,  403.  §1.  Temperance: — Greek,  Roman,  and  Chris- 
tian conceptions,  405;  negative  and  positive  aspects,  407; 
pleasure  and  excitement,  408.  §  2.  Courage  or  persistent 
vigor: — Dislike  of  the  disagreeable,  410;  "dimensions"  of 
courage,  411;  optimism  and  pessimism,  412.  §3.  Justice:— 
Three  meanings  of,  414;  justice  and  love,  415;  justice  and 
punishment,  416.  §4.  Wisdom  or  conscientiousness: — Im- 
portance of  intelligent  interest,  418;  Greek  and  modern  ideas 
of  moral  wisdom,  419;  ideals  and  thought  fulness,  420;  ideals 
and  progress,  422. 


PART  III 

The  World  of  Action 

XX.  Social  Organization  and  the  Individual  ....  427 
Object  of  discussion,  427.  §  1.  Growth  of  individuality 
through  social  organizations: — Emancipation  from  custom, 
428;  double  movement  towards  individuality  and  complex 
associations,  429;  morality  and  legality,  432;  two-fold  contri- 
bution  of   social   environment   to   individual  morality,   433; 


xii  TABLE   OF  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

moral  value  of  the  state,  434.  §  2.  Responsibility  and  free- 
dom:— Liability,  436;  freedom  as  exemption  and  as  power, 
437;  legal  and  moral  freedom,  438.  §  3.  Rights  and  obligations : 
— Their  definition,  439;  they  are  correlative,  440;  physical 
rights,  442;  liinitations  put  upon  them  by  war  and  punish- 
ment, 443;  by  poverty,  444;  mental  rights,  445;  limitations  to 
freedom  of  thought  and  expression,  446;  education,  448. 

XXI.  Civil  Society  and  the  Political  State  ....  451 
§  1.  Civil  rights  and  obligations : — Their  definition,  451;  their 
classes,  452;  significance  of  established  remedies  for  wrongs, 
454.  §2.  Development  of  civil  rights: — Contrast  with  sav- 
age justice,  456;  social  harm  versus  metaphysical  evil,  457; 
recognition  of  accident  and  intent,  459;  of  character  and 
circumstances,  460;  of  mental  incapacity,  462;  significance 
of  negligence  and  carelessness,  464;  conflict  of  substantial  and 
technical  justice,  465;  relations  of  the  legal  and  moral,  467; 
reform  of  criminal  procedure  necessary,  468;  also  of  punitive 
methods,  470;  and  of  civil  administration,  471.  §3.  Politi- 
cal rights  and  obligations: — Significance  of  the  state,  473; 
distrust  of  government,  474;  indifference  to  politics,  476; 
political  corruption,  477;  reform  of  partisan  machinery,  478; 
of  governmental  machinery,  479;  constructive  social  legisla- 
tion, 480;  a  federated  humanity,  481.  §4.  The  moral  cri- 
terion of  political  activity: — Its  statement,  482;  the  in- 
dividualistic formula,  483;  the  coUectivistic  formula,  484. 

XXII.  The  Ethics  of  the  Economic  Life  ....  486 
§1.  General  analysis: — The  economic  in  relation  to  happi- 
ness, 487;  relation  to  character,  488;  social  aspects,  491. 
§2.  The  problem  set  by  the  new  economic  order: — Collective 
and  impersonal  organizations,  495;  readjustments  required, 
496.  §  3.  The  agencies  for  carrying  on  commerce  and  indus- 
try:— Early  agencies,  497;  the  business  enterprise,  498;  the 
labor  union,  499;  reversion  to  group  morality,  500;  members 
and  management,  500 ;  employer  and  employed,  501 ;  rela- 
tions to  the  public,  502;  to  the  law,  503.     §4.     The  methods 

of  production,  exchange,  and  valuation: — The  machine,  507; 
basis  of  valuation,  508.  §  5.  The  factors  which  aid  ethical 
reconstruction: — Principles  more  easily  seen,  511. 

XXIII.  Some  Principles  in  the  Economic  Order        .        .        .  514 
1.    Wealth  subordinate  to  personality,  514.    2.    "Wealth  and 
activity,    514.     3.    Wealth    and    public    service,    515.    4.    A 
change  demanded  from  individual  to  collective  morality,  517. 

5.  Personal  responsibility,  519.  6.  Publicity  and  legal  con- 
trol, 520.     7.     Democracy  and  distribution,  521. 

XXIV.  Unsettled  Problems  in  the  Economic  Order        .        .  523 
§1.     Individualism  and  socialism: — General  statement,  523; 
equal  opportunity,  526.     §2.    Individualism  or  free  contract 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS  xiii 

CHAPTER  PAOB 

analyzed;  its  values: — Efficiency,  527;  initiative,  527;  regula- 
tion of  production,  528.  §  3.  Criticisms  upon  individualism : — 
It  does  not  secure  real  freedom,  528;  nor  justice,  530;  com- 
petition tends  to  destroy  itself,  531;  position  of  the  aristo- 
cratic individualists,  532. 

XXV.  Unsettled   Problems   in    the    Economic    Order    (Con- 

tinued)        536 

§  4.  The  theory  of  public  agency  and  control,  536.  §  5. 
Society  as  agency  of  production: — Charges  against  private 
management,  537;  corruption,  538;  conditions  of  labor,  540; 
collective  agency  not  necessarily  social,  544.  §  6.  Theories 
of  just  distribution: — Individualistic  theory,  546;  equal  divi- 
sion, 547 ;  a  working  programme,  548.  §  7.  Ownership  and 
use  of  property: — Defects  in  the  present  system,  551.  §8. 
Present  tendencies: — Individualistic  character  of  the  Consti- 
tution, 554;  increased  recognition  of  public  welfare,  555; 
social  justice  through  economic,  social,  and  scientific  progress, 
557.  §9.  Three  special  problems: — The  open  versus  the 
closed  shop,  559;  the  capitalization  of  corporations,  561;  the 
unearned  increment,  564.  Appendix:  Prof.  Seager's  pro- 
gramme of  social  legislation,  5QQ^ 

XXVI.  The  Family 571 

§  1.  Historical  antecedents  of  the  modern  family : — Maternal 
type,  572;  paternal  type,  572;  influence  of  the  church,  576. 
§  2.  The  psychological  basis  of  the  family : — Emotional  and 
instinctive  basis,  578;  common  will,  580;  parenthood,  581; 
social  and  religious  factors,  582 ;  the  children,  582.  §  3. 
General  elements  of  strain  in  family  relations: — Differences 
between  the  sexes  in  temperament  and  occupation,  584;  in 
attitude  toward  the  family,  587;  differences  between  parents 
and  children,  589.  §  4.  Special  conditions  which  give  rise  to 
present  problems: — The  economic  factors,  590;  cultural  and 
political  factors,  593.  §5.  Unsettled  problems: — Economic 
problems,  594;  the  dilemma  between  the  domestic  life  and 
occupations  outside  the  home,  595;  the  family  as  consumer, 
598.  §6.  Unsettled  problems: — Political  problems,  author- 
ity within  the  family,  599;  equality  or  inequality,  600;  isola- 
tion not  the  solution,  602;  authority  over  the  family,  divorce, 
603;  general  law  of  social  health,  605;  conclusion,  605. 


ETHICS 

CHAPTER  I 

INTRODUCTION 

§  1.  d:^finition  and  method 

Provisional  Definition. — The  place  for  an  accurate 
definition  of  a  subject  is  at  the  end  of  an  inquiry  rather 
than  at  the  beginning,  but  a  brief  definition  will  serve  to 
mark  out  the  field.  Ethics  is  the  science  that  deals  with 
conduct,  in  so  far  as  this  is  considered  as  right  or  wrong, 
good  or  bad.  A  single  term  for  conduct  so  considered 
is  "moral  conduct,"  or  the  "moral  life."  Another  way  of 
stating  the  same  thing  is  to  say  that  Ethics  aims  to  give 
a  systematic  account  of  our  judgments  about  conduct,  in 
so  far  as  these  estimate  it  from  the  standpoint  of  right 
or  wrong,  good  or  bad. 

Ethical  and  Moral. — The  terms  "ethics"  and  "ethical" 
are  derived  from  a  Greek  word  ethos  which  originally  meant 
customs,  usages,  especially  those  belonging  to  some  group 
as  distinguished  from  another,  and  later  came  to  mean 
disposition,  character.  They  are  thus  like  the  Latin 
word  "moral,"  from  mores,  or  the  German  sittlich,  from 
Sitten.  As  we  shall  see,  it  was  in  customs,  "ethos," 
"mores,"  that  the  moral  or  ethical  began  to  appear.  For 
customs  were  not  merely  habitual  ways  of  acting;  they 
were  ways  approved  by  the  group  or  society.  To  act 
contrary  to  the  customs  of  the  group  brought  severe  dis- 
approval.    This  might  not  be  formulated  in  precisely  our 


^  ,,....  :     :  .'.  INTRODUCTION 

tfer-rris-^rigKt'  arid  wrong,  good  and  bad, — ^but  the  attitude 
was  the  same  in  essence.  The  terms  ethical  and  moral 
as  applied  to  the  conduct  of  to-day  imply  of  course  a 
far  more  complex  and  advanced  type  of  life  than  the  old 
words  "ethos"  and  "mores,"  just  as  economics  deals  with  a 
more  complex  problem  than  "the  management  of  a  house- 
hold," but  the  terms  have  a  distinct  value  if  they  suggest 
the  way  in  which  the  moral  life  had  its  beginning. 

Two  Aspects  of  Conduct. — To  give  a  scientific  ac- 
count of  judgments  about  conduct,  means  to  find,  the 
principles  which  are  the  basis  of  these  judgments.  Con-  ( 
duct  or  the  moral  life  has  two  obvious  aspects,  (fn  the 
one  hand  it  is  a  life  of  purpose.  It  implies  thought  and 
feeling,  ideals  and  motives,  valuation  and  choice.  These 
are  processes  to  be  studied  by  psychological  methods.  On 
the  other  hand,  conduct  has  its  outward  side.'N  It  has  rela- 
tions to  nature,  and  especially  to  human  society.  Moral 
life  is  called  out  or  stimulated  by  certain  necessities  of 
individual  and  social  existence.  As  Protagoras  put  it, 
in  mythical  form,  the  gods  gave  men  a  sense  of  justice  • 
and  of  reverence,  in  order  to  enable  them  to  unite  for 
mutual  preservation.^  And  in  turn  the  moral  life  aims 
to  modify  or  transform  both  natural  and  social  environ- 
ments, to  build  a  "kingdom  of  man"  which  shall  be  also 
an  ideal  social  order — a  "kingdom  of  God."  These  rela- 
tions to  nature  and  society  are  studied  by  the  biological 
and  social  sciences.  Sociology,  economics,  politics,  law, 
and  jurisprudence  deal  particularly  with  this  aspect  of 
conduct.  Ethics  must  employ  their  methods  and  results 
for  this  aspect  of  its  problem,  as  it  employs  psychology 
for  the  examination  of  conduct  on  its  inner  side. 

The  Specific  Problem  of  Ethics. — But  ethics   is   not 
merely  the  sum  of  these  various  sciences.     It  has  a  prob- 
lem of  its  own  which  is  created  by  just  this  twofold  aspect 
of  life  and  conduct.     It  has  to  relate  these  two  sides.     It 
*  Plato,  Protagoras,  320  ff. 


DEFINITION  AND  METHOD  3 

has  to  study  the  inner  process  as  determined  hy  the  outer 
conditions  or  as  changing  these  outer  conditions,  and  the 
outward  behavior  or  institution  as  determined  hy  the  inner 
purpose,  or  as  affecting  the  inner  life.  To  study  choice""  ^ 
and  purpose  is  psychology ;  to  study  choice  as  affected 
by  the  rights  of  others  and  to  judge  it  as  right  or  wrong 
by  this  standard  is  ethics.  Or  again,  to  study  a  corpora- 
tion may  be  economics,  or  sociology,  or  law;  to  study  its 
activities  as  resulting  from  the  purposes  of  persons  or  as 
affecting  the  welfare  of  persons,  and  to  judge  its  acts 
as  good  or  bad  from  such  a  point  of  view,  is  ethics.  ??5^ 

Genetic  Study. — When  we  deal  with  any  process  of  life  ^ 
it  is  found  to  be  a  great  aid  for  understanding  the 
present  conditions  if  we  trace  the  history  of  the  process 
and  see  how  present  conditions  have  come  about.  And 
in  the  case  of  morality  there  are  four  reasons  in  particu- 
lar for  examining  earlier  stages.  The  first  is  that  we  ' 
may  begin  our  study  with  a  simpler  material.  Moral  life 
at  present  is  extremely  complex.  Professional,  civic, 
domestic,  philanthropic,  ecclesiastical,  and  social  obliga- 
tions claim  adjustment.  Interests  in  wealth,  in  knowl- 
edge, in  power,  in  friendship,  in  social  welfare,  make  de- 
mand for  recognition  in  fixing  upon  what  is  good.  It  is 
desirable  to  consider  first  a  simpler  problem.  In  the  second  -^ 
place,  this  complex  moral  life  is  like  the  human  body 
in  that  it  contains  "rudiments"  and  "survivals."  Some 
of  our  present  standards  and  ideals  were  formed  at  one 
period  in  the  past,  and  some  at  another.  Some  of  these 
apply  to  present  conditions  and  some  do  not.  Some 
are  at  variance  with  others.  Many  apparent  conflicts 
in  moral  judgments  are  explained  when  we  discover  how 
the  judgments  came  to  be  formed  in  the  first  instance. 
We  cannot  easily  understand  the  moral  life  of  to-day 
except  in  the  light  of  earlier  morality.  The  third  reason 
is  that  we  may  get  a  more  objective  material  for  study. 
Our  moral  life  is  so  intimate  a  part  of  ourselves  that 


4  INTRODUCTION 

it  is  hard  to  observe  impartially.  Its  characteristics  es- 
cape notice  because  they  are  so  familiar.  When  we  travel 
we  find  the  customs,  laws,  and  moral  standards  of  other 
peoples  standing  out  as  "peculiar."  Until  we  have  been 
led  by  some  such  means  to  compare  our  own  conduct  with 
that  of  others  it  probably  does  not  occur  to  us  that  our 
own  standards  are  also  peculiar,  and  hence  in  need  of  expla- 
nation. It  is  as  difficult  scientifically  as  it  is  personally  "to 
see  ourselves  as  others  see  us."  It  is  doubtless  true  that 
to  see  ourselves  merely  as  others  see  us  would  not  be 
enough.  Complete  moral  analysis  requires  us  to  take 
into  our  reckoning  motives  and  purposes  which  may  per- 
haps be  undiscoverable  by  the  "others."  But  it  is  a  great 
aid  to  this  completer  analysis  if  we  can  sharpen  our  vision 
and  awaken  our  attention  by  a  comparative  study.  A 
fourth  reason  for  a  genetic  study  is  that  it  emphasizes 
the  dynamic,  progressive  character  of  morality.  Merely 
to  examine  the  present  may  easily  give  the  impression  that 
the  moral  life  is  not  a  life,  a  moving  process,  something 
still  in  the  making — but  a  changeless  structure.  There  is 
moral  progress  as  well  as  a  moral  order.  This  may  be 
discovered  by  an  analysis  of  the  very  nature  of  moral 
conduct,  but  it  stands  out  more  clearly  and  impressively 
if  we  trace  the  actual  development  in  history.  Before 
attempting  our  analysis  of  the  present  moral  consciousness 
and  its  judgments,  we  shall  therefore  give  an  outline  of 
the  earlier  stages  and  simpler  phases. 

Theory  and  Practice. — Finally,  if  we  can  discover 
ethical  principles  these  ought  to  give  some  guidance  for 
the  unsolved  problems  of  life  which  continually  present 
themselves  for  decision.  Whatever  may  be  true  for  other 
sciences  it  would  seem  that  ethics  at  least  ought  to  have 
^some  practical  value.  "In  this  theater  of  man's  life  it  is 
reserved  for  God  and  the  angels  to  be  lookers  on."  Man 
must  act ;  and  he  must  act  well  or  ill,  rightly  or  wrongly. 
If  he  has  reflected,  has  considered  his  conduct  in  the  light 


CRITERION  OF  THE  MORAL  5 

of  the  general  principles  of  human  order  and  progress,  he 
ought  to  be  able  to  act  more  intelligently  and  freely, 
to  achieve  the  satisfaction  that  always  attends  on  scien- 
tific as  compared  with  uncritical  or  rule-of -thumb  prac- 
tice. Socrates  gave  the  classic  statement  for  the  study 
of  conduct  when  he  said,  "A  life  unexamined,  uncriticized,^ 
is  not  worthy  of  man." 

§  2.    CRITERION    OF    THE    MORAL. 

It  is  not  proposed  to  attempt  at  this  point  an  accurate  or 
minute  statement  of  what  is  implied  in  moral  conduct,  as 
this  is  the  task  of  Part  II.  But  for  the  purposes  of  trac- 
ing in  Part  I.  the  beginnings  of  morality,  it  is  desirable  to 
have  a  sort  of  rough  chart  to  indicate  to  the  student  what 
to  look  for  in  the  earlier  stages  of  his  exploration,  and 
to  enable  him  to  keep  his  bearings  on  the  way. 

Certain  of  the  characteristics  of  the  moral  may  be  seen 
in  a  cross-section,  a  statement  of  the  elements  in  moral 
conduct  at  a  given  time.  Other  characteristics  come  out 
more  clearly  by  comparing  later  with  earlier  stages.  We 
give  first  a  cross-section. 

I.  Characteristics  of  the  Moral  Life  in  Cross-section. 
— In  this  cross-section  the  first  main  division  is  suggested 
by  the  fact  that  we  sometimes  give  our  attention  to  what 
is  done  or  intended,  and  sometimes  to  how  or  whi^  the 
act  is  done.  These  divisions  may  turn  out  to  be  less  abso- 
lute than  they  seem,  but  common  life  uses  them  and  moral 
theories  have  often  selected  the  one  or  the  other  as  the 
important  aspect.  When  we  are  told  to  seek  peace,  tell 
the  truth,  or  aim  at  the  greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest 
number,  we  are  charged  to  do  or  intend  some  definite  act. 
When  we  are  urged  to  be  conscientious  or  pure  in  heart 
the  emphasis  is  on  a  kind  of  attitude  that  might  go  with 
a  variety  of  acts.  A  newspaper  advocates  a  good  meas- 
ure.    So  far,  so  good.     But  people  may  ask,  what  is  the 


6  INTRODUCTION 

motive  in  this?  and  if  this  is  beheved  to  be  merely  selfish, 
they  do  not  credit  the  newspaper  with  having  genuine  in- 
terest in  reform.  On  the  other  hand,  sincerity  alone  is  not 
enough.  If  a  man  advocates  frankly  and  sincerely  a 
scheme  for  enriching  himself  at  the  public  expense  we  con- 
demn him.  We  say  his  very  frankness  shows  his  utter 
disregard  for  others.  One  of  the  great  moral  philosophers 
has  indeed  said  that  to  act  rationally  is  all  that  is  neces- 
sary, but  he  at  once  goes  on  to  claim  that  this  imphes 
treating  every  man  as  an  end  and  not  merely  a  means,  arid 
this  calls  for  a  particular  kind  of  action.  Hence  we  may 
assume  for  the  present  purpose  a  general  agreement  that 
our  moral  judgments  take  into  account  both  what  is  done 
or  intended,  and  how  or  why  the  act  is  done.  These  two 
aspects  are  sometimes  called  the  "matter"  and  the  "form," 
or  the  "content"  and  the  attitude.  We  shall  use  the 
simpler  terms,  the  What  and  the  How. 

The  "What"  as  a  Criterion. — If  we  neglect  for  the 
moment  the  How  and  think  of  the  What,  we  find  two  main 
standpoints  employed  in  judging:  one  is  that  of  "higher" 
and  "lower"  within  the  man's  own  self;  the  other  is  his 
treatment  of  others. 

The  distinction  between  a  higher  and  lower  self  has  many 
guises.  We  speak  of  a  man  as  "a  slave  to  his  appetites," 
of  another  as  possessed  by  greed  for  money,  of  another  as 
insatiately  ambitious.  Over  against  these  passions  we 
hear  the  praise  of  scientific  pursuits,  of  culture,  of  art, 
of  friendship,  of  meditation,  or  of  religion.  We  are  bid- 
den to  think  of  things  aifxva,  nobly  serious.  A  life  of 
the  spirit  is  set  off  against  the  life  of  the  flesh,  the  finer 
against  the  coarser,  the  nobler  against  the  baser.  How- 
ever misguided  the  forms  in  which  this  has  been  inter- 
preted, there  is  no  doubt  as  to  the  reality  of  the  conflicting 
impulses  which  give  rise  to  the  dualism.  The  source  is 
obvious.  Man  would  not  be  here  if  self-preservation  and 
self-assertion  and  sex  instinct  were  not  strongly  rooted  in 


CRITERION  OF  THE  MORAL  7 

his  system.  These  may  easily  become  dominant  passions. 
But  just  as  certainly,  man  cannot  be  all  that  he  may  be 
unless  he  controls  these  impulses  and  passions  by  other  mo- 
tives. He  has  first  to  create  for  himsglf  a  new  world  of 
ideal  interests  before  he  finds  his  best  life.  The  appetites 
and  instincts  may  be  "natural,"  in  the  sense  that  they  are 
the  beginning;  the  mental  and  spiritual  life  is  "natural," 
as  Aristotle  puts  it,  in  the  sense  that  man's  full  nature 
is  developed  only  in  such  a  life. 

The  other  aspect  of  the  What,  the  treatment  of  others, 
need  not  detain  us.  Justice,  kindness,  the  conduct  of  the 
Golden  Rule  are  the  right  and  good.  Injustice,  cruelty, 
selfishness  are  the  wrong  and  the  bad. 

Analysis  of  the  Hov^^:  the  Right  and  the  Good. — ^We 
have  used  right  and  good  as  though  they  might  be  used 
interchangeably  in  speaking  of  conduct.  Perhaps  this 
may  in  the  end  prove  to  be  true.  If  an  act  is  right,  then 
the  hero  or  the  saint  may  believe  that  it  is  also  good; 
if  an  act  is  good  in  the  fullest  sense,  then  it  will  commend 
itself  as  right.  But  right  and  good  evidently  approach 
conduct  from  two  different  points  of  view.  These  might 
have  been  noted  when  speaking  of  the  content  or  the  What, 
but  they  are  more  important  in  considering  the  How. 

It  is  evident  that  when  we  speak  of  conduct  as  right 
we  think  of  it  as  before  a  judge.  We  bring  the  act  to  a 
standard,  and  measure  the  act.  We  think  too  of  this 
standard  as  a  "moral  law"  which  we  "ought"  to  obey. 
We  respect  its  authority  and  hold  ourselves  responsible. 
The  standard  is  conceived  as  a  control  over  our  impulses  and 
desires.  The  man  who  recognizes  such  a  law  and  is  anxious 
to  find  and  to  do  his  duty,  we  call  conscientious ;  as  gov- 
erning his  impulses,  he  has  self-control;  as  squaring  his 
conduct  strictly  by  his  standard,  he  is  upright  and 
reliable. 

If  I  think  of  "good"  I  am  approaching  conduct  from 
the  standpoint  of  value.    I  am  thinking  of  what  is  desira- 


8  INTRODUCTION 

ble.  This  too  is  a  standard,  but  it  is  a  standard  regarded 
as  an  end  to  be  sought  rather  than  as  a  law.  I  am  to 
"choose"  it  and  identify  myself  with  it,  rather  than  to  con- 
trol myself  by  it.  It  is  an  "ideal."  The  conscientious 
man,  viewed  from  this  standpoint,  would  seek  to  dis- 
cover the  true  good,  to  value  his  ends,  to  form  ideals, 
instead  of  following  impulse  or  accepting  any  seeming 
good  without  careful  consideration.  In  so  far  as  impulses 
are  directed  by  ideals  the  thoroughly  good  man  will  be 
straightforward,  "sincere":  that  is,  he  will  not  be  moved 
to  do  the  good  act  by  fear  of  punishment,  or  by  bribery, 
just  as  the  upright  man  will  be  "governed  by  a  sense  of 
duty,"  of  "respect  for  principles." 

Summary  of  the  Characteristics  of  the  Moral To  sum 

up  the  main  characteristics  of  the  moral  life  viewed  in 
cross-section,  or  when  in  full  activity,  we  may  state  them 
as  follows: 

On  the  side  of  the  "what,"  there  are  two  aspects : 

(a)  The  dominance  of  "higher,"  ideal  interests  of 
knowledge,  art,  freedom,  rights,  and  the  "life  of  the 
spirit." 

(b)  Regard  for  others,  under  its  various  aspects  of 
justice,  sympathy,  and  benevolence. 

On  the  side  of  the  "how"  the  important  aspects 
are: 

(a)  The  recognition  of  some  standard,  which  may  arise 
either  as  a  control  in  the  guise  of  "right"  and  "law,"  or 
as  measure  of  value  in  the  form  of  an  ideal  to  be  followed 
or  good  to  be  approved. 

(b)  A  sense  of  duty  and  respect  for  the  law;  sincere 
love  of  the  good. 

(a)  and  (b)  of  this  latter  division  are  both  included 
under  the  "conscientious"  attitude. 

2.  The  Moral  as  a  Growth. — The  psychologists  dis- 
tinguish three  stages  in  conduct:  (a)  Instinctive  activity, 
(b)  Attention;  the  stage  of  conscious  direction  or  control 


CRITERION  OF  THE  MORAL 

of  action  bj  imagery;  of  deliberation,  desire,  and  choice, 
(c)  Habit;  the  stage  of  unconscious  activity  along  lines 
set  by  previous  action.  Consciousness  thus  "occupies  a 
curious  middle  ground  between  hereditary  reflex  and  auto- 
matic activities  upon  the  one  hand  and  acquired  habitual 
activities  upon  the  other."  Where  the  original  equip- 
ment of  instincts  fails  to  meet  some  new  situation,  when 
there  are  stimulations  for  which  the  system  has  no  ready- 
made  response,  consciousness  appears.  It  selects  from  the 
various  responses  those  which  suit  the  purpose,  and  when 
these  responses  have  become  themselves  automatic,  ha- 
bitual, consciousness  "betakes  itself  elsewhere  to  points 
where  habitual  accommodatory  movements  are  as  yet 
wanting  and  needed."  ^  To  apply  this  to  the  moral  devel- 
opment we  need  only  to  add  that  this  process  repeats  itself 
over  and  over.  The  starting-point  for  each  later  repeti- 
tion is  not  the  hereditary  instinct,  but  the  habits  which 
have  been  formed.  For  the  habits  formed  at  one  age 
of  the  individual's  life,  or  at  one  stage  of  race  develop- 
ment, prove  inadequate  for  more  complex  situations.  The 
child  leaves  home,  the  savage  tribe  changes  to  agricul- 
tural life,  and  the  old  habits  no  longer  meet  the  need. 
Attention  is  again  demanded.  There  is  deliberation,  strug- 
gle, effort.  If  the  result  is  successful  new  habits  are 
formed,  but  upon  a  higher  level.  For  the  new  habits,  the 
new  character,  embody  more  intelligence.  The  first  stage, 
purely  instinctive  action,  we  do  not  call  moral  conduct.  It 
is  of  course  not  mmoral;  it  is  merely  unmoral.  The  sec- 
ond stage  shows  morality  in  the  making.  It  includes  the 
process  of  transition  from  impulse,  through  desire  to  will. 
It  involves  the  stress  of  conflicting  interests,  the  processes 
of  deliberation  and  valuation,  and  the  final  act  of  choice. 
It  will  be  illustrated  in  our  treatment  of  race  development 
by  the  change  from  early  group  life  and  customs  to  the 
more  conscious  moral  life  of  higher  civilization.  The  third 
*  Angell,  Psychology,  p.  59, 


10  INTRODUCTION 

stage,  well-organized  character,  is  the  goal  of  the  process. 
But  it  is  evidently  only  a  relative  point.  A  good  man 
has  built  up  a  set  of  habits ;  a  good  society  has  established 
certain  laws  and  moral  codes.  But  unless  the  man  or 
society  is  in  a  changeless  world  with  no  new  conditions 
there  will  be  new  problems.  And  this  means  that  how- 
ever good  the  habit  was  for  its  time  and  purpose  there 
must  be  new  choices  and  new  valuations.  A  character  that 
would  run  automatically  in  every  case  would  be  pretty 
nearly  a  mechanism.  It  is  therefore  the  second  stage  of 
this  process  that  is  the  stage  of  active  moral  conscious- 
ness.    It  is  upon  this  that  we  focus  our  attention. 

Moral  growth  from  the  first  on  through  the  second  stage 
may  be  described  as  a  process  in  which  man  becomes  more 
rational,  more  social,  and  finally  more  moral.  We  examine 
briefly  each  of  these  aspects. 

The  Rationalizing  or  Idealizing  Process. —  The  first 
need  of  the  organism  is  to  live  and  grow.  The  first 
instincts  and  impulses  are  therefore  for  food,  self-defence, 
and  other  immediate  necessities.  Primitive  men  eat, 
sleep,  fight,  build  shelters,  and  give  food  and  protec- 
tion to  their  offspring.  The  "rationalizing"  process  will 
mean  at  first  greater  use  of  intelligence  to  satisfy  these 
same  wants.  It  will  show  itself  in  skilled  occupations, 
in  industry  and  trade,  in  the  utilizing  of  all  resources  to 
further  man's  power  and  happiness.  But  to  rationalize 
conduct  is  also  to  introduce  new  ends.  It  not  only  enables 
man  to  get  what  he  wants;  it  changes  the  kind  of  objects 
that  he  wants.  This  shows  itself  externally  in  what  man 
makes  and  in  how  he  occupies  himself.  He  must  of  course 
have  food  and  shelter.  But  he  makes  temples  and  statues 
and  poems.  He  makes  myths  and  theories  of  the  world. 
He  carries  on  great  enterprises  in  commerce  or  govern- 
ment, not  so  much  to  gratify  desires  for  bodily  wants 
as  to  experience  the  growth  of  power.  He  creates  a  fam- 
ily life  which  is  raised  to  a  higher  level  by  art  and  reli- 


CRITERION  OF  THE  MORAL  11 

glon.  He  does  not  live  by  bread  only,  but  builds  up 
gradually  a  life  of  reason.  Psychologically  this  means 
that  whereas  at  the  beginning  we  want  what  our  body 
calls  for,  we  soon  come  to  want  things  which  the  mind 
takes  an  interest  in.  As  we  form  by  memory,  imagination, 
and  reason  a  more  continuous,  permanent,  highly-organ- 
ized self,  we  require  a  far  more  permanent  and  ideal  kind 
of  good  to  satisf}'^  us.  This  gives  rise  to  the  contrast 
between  the  material  and  ideal  selves,  or  in  another  form, 
between  "the  world"  and  "the  spirit." _. 


The  Socializing  Process. — The  ""socializing"  side  of 
the  process  of  development  stands  for  an  increased  capac- 
ity to  enter  into  relations  with  other  human  beings.  Like 
the  growth  of  reason  it  is  both  a  means  and  an  end.  It 
has  its  roots  in  certain  instincts — sex,  gregariousness, 
parental  instincts — and  in  the  necessities  of  mutual  sup- 
port and  protection.  But  the  associations  thus  formed 
imply  a  grea,t  variety  of  activities  which  call  out  new 
powers  and  set  up  new  ends.  Language  is  one  of  the  first 
of  these  activities  and  a  first  step  toward  more  complete 
socialization.  Cooperation,  in  all  kinds  of  enterprises, 
interchange  of  services  and  goods,  participation  in  social 
arts,  associations  for  various  purposes,  institutions  of 
blood,  family,  government,  and  religion,  all  add  enormously 
to  the  individual's  power.  On  the  other  hand,  as  he 
enters  into  these  relations  and  becomes  a  "member"  of  all 
these  bodies  he  inevitably  undergoes  a  transformation  in 
his  interests.  Psychologically  the  process  is  one  of  build- 
ing up  a  "social"  self.  Imitation  and  suggestion,  sym- 
pathy and  aflPection,  common  purpose  and  common  inter- 
est, are  the  aids  in  building  such  a  self.  As  the  various 
instincts,  emotions,  and  purposes  are  more  definitely  organ- 
ized into  such  a  unit,  it  becomes  possible  to  set  off  the 
interests  of  others  against  those  interests  that  center  in 
my  more  individual  good.  Conscious  egoism  and  altruism 
become  possible.    And  in  a  way  that  will  be  explained,  the 


12  INTRODUCTION 

interests  of  self  and  others   are  raised  to  the  plane  of 
rights  and  justice. 

What  is  Needed  to  Make  Conduct  Moral. — ^AU  this 
is  not  yet  moral  progress  in  the  fullest  sense.  The  prog- 
ress to  more  rational  and  more  social  conduct  is  the  indis- 
pensable condition  of  the  moral,  but  not  the  whole  story. 
What  is  needed  is  that  the  more  rational  and  social  con- 
duct should  itself  be  valued  as  good,  and  so  be  chosen 
and  sought;  or  in  terms  of  control,  that  the  law  which 
society  or  reason  prescribes  should  be  consciously  thought 
of  as  right,  used  as  a  standard,  and  respected  as  binding. 
This  gives  the  contrast  between  the  higher  and  lower,  as 
a  conscious  aim,  not  merely  as  a  matter  of  taste.  It  raises 
the  collision  between  self  and  others  to  the  basis  of  personal 
rights  and  justice,  of  deliberate  selfishness  or  benevolence. 
Finally  it  gives  the  basis  for  such  organization  of  the 
social  and  rational  choices  that  the  progress  already 
gained  may  be  permanently  secured,  while  the  attention, 
the  struggle  between  duty  and  inclination,  the  conscious 
choice,  move  forward  to  a  new  issue.  Aristotle  made  these 
points  clear: 

"But  the  virtues  are  not  in  this  point  analogous  to  the  arts. 
The  products  of  art  have  their  excellence  in  themselves,  and 
so  it  is  enough  if  when  produced  they  are  of  a  certain  quality ; 
but  in  the  case  of  the  virtues,  a  man  is  not  said  to  act  justly 
or  temperately  (or  like  a  just  or  temperate  man)  if  what  he 
does  merely  be  of  a  certain  sort — he  must  also  be  in  a  certain 
state  of  mind  when  he  does  it:  i.e.,  first  of  all,  he  must  know 
what  he  is  doing;  secondly,  he  must  choose  it,  and  choose  it 
for  itself;  and,  thirdly,  his  act  must  be  the  expression  of  a 
formed  and  stable  character." 

Summary  of  the  Characteristics  of  the  Moral  as 
Growth. — The  full  cycle  has  three  stages: 

(a)  Instinctive  or  habitual  action. 

(b)  Action  under  the  stress  of  attention,  with  conscious 
intervention  and  reconstruction. 


DIVISIONS  OF  THE  TREATMENT  18 

(c)  Organization  of  consciously  directed  conduct  into 
habits  and  a  self  of  a  higher  order :  Character. 

The  advance  from  (a)  to  and  through  (b)  has  three 
aspects. 

(a)  It  is  a  rationalizing  and  idealizing  process.  Rea- 
son is  both  a  means  to  secure  other  ends,  and  an  element 
in  determining  what  shall  be  sought. 

(b)  It  is  a  socializing  process.  Society  both  strength- 
ens and  transforms  the  individual. 

(c)  It  is  a  process  in  which  finally  conduct  itself  is  made 
the  conscious  object  of  reflection,  valuation,  and  criticism. 
In  this  the  definitely  moral  conceptions  of  right  and  duty, 
good  and  virtue  appear. 

§  3.    DIVISIONS    OF    THE    TREATMENT 

Part  I.,  after  a  preliminary  presentation  of  certain 
important  aspects  of  group  life,  will  first  trace  the  process 
of  moral  development  in  its  general  outlines,  and  then 
give  specific  illustrations  of  the  process  taken  from  the  life 
of  Israel,  of  Greece,  and  of  modern  civilization. 

Part  II.  will  analyze  conduct  or  the  moral  life  on  its 
inner,  personal  side.  After  distinguishing  more  carefully 
what  is  meant  by  moral  action,  and  noting  some  typical 
ways  in  which  the  moral  life  has  been  viewed  by  ethical 
theory,  it  will  examine  the  meaning  of  right  and  good, 
of  duty  and  virtue,  and  seek  to  discover  the  principles 
underlying  moral  judgments  and  moral  conduct. 

Part  III.  will  study  conduct  as  action  in  society.  But 
instead  of  a  general  survey,  attention  will  be  centered 
upon  three  phases  of  conduct  which  are  of  especial  interest 
and  importance.  Political  rights  and  duties,  the  produc- 
tion, distribution,  and  ownership  of  wealth,  and  finally 
the  relations  of  domestic  and  family  life,  all  present 
unsettled  problems.  These  challenge  the  student  to 
make  a  careful  examination,  for  he  must  take  some  atti- 
tude as  citizen  on  the  issues  involved. 


14  INTRODUCTION 

LITERATURE 

The  literature  on  specific  topics  will  be  found  at  the  beginning  of 
each  Part,  and  at  the  close  of  the  several  chapters.  We  indicate  here 
some  of  the  more  useful  manuals  and  recent  representative  works, 
and  add  some  specific  references  on  the  scope  and  methods  of  ethics. 
Baldwin's  Dictionary  of  Philosophy  and  Psychology  has  selected  lists 
(see  especially  articles.  Ethical  Theories,  Ethics,  Worth)  and  general 
lists  (Vol.  III.).     Runze,  Ethik,  1891,  has  good  bibliographies. 

Elemextary  Texts:  Mackenzie,  Manual  of  Ethics,  3rd  ed.,  1900; 
Muirhead,  Elements  of  Ethics,  1893;  Seth,  A  Study  of  Ethical  Prin- 
ciples, 6th  ed.,  1902;  Thilly,  Introduction  to  Ethics,  1900. 

Representative  Books  and  Treatises  in  English:  Green,  Prole- 
gomena to  Ethics,  1883  (Idealism) ;  Martineau,  Types  of  Ethical 
Theory,  1885,  3rd  ed.,  1891  (Intuitionism) ;  Sidgwick's  Methods  of 
Ethics,  1874,  6th  ed.,  1901  (Union  of  Intuitionist  and  Utilitarian  Posi- 
tions with  careful  analysis  of  common  sense) ;  Spencer,  The  Principles 
of  Ethics,  1892-3  (Evolution);  Stephen's  Science  of  Ethics,  1882;  The 
comprehensive  work  of  Paulsen  (System  der  Ethik,  1889,  5th  ed., 
1900)  has  been  translated  in  part  by  Thilly,  1899;  that  of  Wundt 
(Ethik,  1886,  3rd  ed.,  1903),  by  Titchener,  Gulliver,  and  Washburn, 
1897-1901.  Among  the  more  recent  contributions,  either  to  the  whole 
field  or  to  specific  parts,  may  be  noted:  Alexander,  Moral  Order  and 
Progress,  1889;  2nd  ed.,  1891;  Dewey,  Outlines  of  Ethics,  1891,  and 
The  Study  of  Ethics,  A  Syllabus,  1894;  Fite,  An  Introductory  Study 
of  Ethics,  1903;  Hoffding,  Ethik  (German  tr.),  1887;  Janet,  The 
Theory  of  Morals  (Eng.  tr.),  1884;  Ladd,  The  Philosophy  of  Conduct, 
1902;  Mezes,  Ethics,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory,  1900;  Moore, 
Principia  Ethica,  1903;  Palmer,  The  Field  of  Ethics,  1902,  The  Nature 
of  Goodness,  1903;  Taylor,  The  Problem  of  Conduct,  1901;  Rashdall, 
The  Theory  of  Good  and  Evil,  1907;  Bowne,  The  Principles  of  Ethics, 
1892;  Rickaby,  Moral  Philosophy,  1888. 

Histories  of  Ethics:  Sidgwick,  History  of  Ethics,  3rd  ed.,  1892; 
Albee,  A  History  of  English  Utilitarianism,  1902;  Stephen,  The  Utili- 
tarians, 1900;  Martineau,  Types  of  Ethical  Theory;  Whewell,  Lec- 
tures on  the  History  of  Moral  Philosophy  in  England,  1852,  1862; 
Kostlin,  Geschichte  ' der  Ethik,  2  vols.,  1881-92  (ancient  theories); 
Jodl,  Geschichte  der  Ethik,  2  vols.,  1882-89  (modern) ;  Wundt,  Ethik, 
Vol.  II.;  the  histories  of  philosophy  by  Windelband,  Hoffding,  Erd- 
mann,  Ueberweg,  Falckenberg. 

Scope  and  Method  of  Ethics:  See  the  opening  chapters  in  nearly 
all  the  works  cited  above,  especially  Palmer  (Field  of  Ethics),  Moore, 
Stephen,  Spencer,  Paulsen,  and  Wundt  (Facts  of  the  Moral  Life); 
see  also  Ritchie,  Philosophical  Studies,  1905,  pp.  264-291;  Wallace, 
Lectures  and  Essays  on  Natural  Theology  and  Ethics,  1898,  pp. 
194  ff.;  Dewey,  Logical  Conditions  of  a  Scientific  Treatment  of  Mo- 
rality (University  of  Chicago  Decennial  Publications,  1903);  Stuart, 
The  Logic  of  Self-realization,  in  University  of  California  Publica- 
tions: Philosophy,  I.,  1904;  Small,  The  Significance  of  Sociology  for 
Ethics,  1902;  Hadley,  Article  Economic  Theory  in  Baldwin's  Diet. 

Relation  of  Theory  to  Life:  Green,  Prolegomena,  Book  IV.; 
Dewey,  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  I.,  1891,  pp.  186-203; 
James,  same  journal,  Vol.  I.,  330-354;  Mackenzie,  same  journal, 
Vol.  IV.,  1894,  pp.  160-173. 


PART  I 
THE  BEGINNINGS  AND  GROWTH  OF  MORALITY 


GENERAL  LITERATURE  FOR  PART  I 

Hobhouse,  Morals  in  Evolution,  2  vols.,  1906. 

Westermarck,  The  Origin  and  Development  of  Moral  Ideas,  Vol.  I., 
1906. 

Sutherland,  The  Origin  and  Growth  of  the  Moral  Instinct,  2  vols., 
1898. 

Wundt,  Facts  of  the  Moral  Life,  1902;  also  Ethik,  3rd  ed.,  1903, 
Vol.  I.,  pp.  280-523. 

Paulsen,  A  System  of  Ethics,  1899,  Book  I. 

Sumner,  Folkways,  1907. 

Bergmann,  Ethik  als  Kulturphilosophie,  1904. 

Mezes,  Ethics,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory,  Part  I. 

Dewey,  The  Evolutioimry  Method  as  Applied  to  Morality,  Philos. 
Review,  XI.,  1902,  pp.  107-124,  353-371. 

Adam  Smith,  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  1759. 

Baldwin,  Social  and  Ethical  Interpretations,  1902. 

Taylor,  The  Problem  of  Conduct,  1901,  chap.  iii. 

Spencer,  Data  of  Ethics,  1879;  Psychology,  1872,  Part  IX.,  chs. 
v.-viii. 

Ihering,  Der  Zweck  im  Recht,  3rd  ed.,  1893. 

Steinthal,  Allgemeine   Ethik,    1885. 


CHAPTER  II 

EARLY  GROUP  LIFE 

To  understand  the  origin  and  growth  of  moral  life,  it  is 
essential  to  understand  primitive  society.  And  while  there 
is  much  that  is  uncertain,  there  is  one  fact  of  capital  im- 
portance which  stands  out  clearly.  This  is  the  dominant 
influence  of  group  life.  It  is  not  asserted  that  all  peoples 
have  had  precisely  the  same  type  of  groups,  or  the  same 
degree  of  group  solidarity.  It  is  beyond  question  that 
the  ancestors  of  modern  civilized  races  lived  under  the 
general  types  of  group  life  which  will  be  outlined,  and 
that  these  types  or  their  survivals  are  found  among  the 
great  mass  of  peoples  to-day. 

§  1.    TYPICAL    FACTS    OF    GROUP    LIFE 

Consider  the  following  incident  as  related  by  Dr.  Gray : 

"A  Chinese  aided  by  his  wife  flogged  his  mother.  The  im- 
perial order  not  only  commanded  that  the  criminals  should 
be  put  to  death;  it  further  directed  that  the  head  of  the  clan 
should  be  put  to  death,  that  the  immediate  neighbors  each 
receive  eighty  blows  and  be  sent  into  exile;  that  the  head  or 
representatives  of  the  graduates  of  the  first  degree  (or  B.A.) 
among  whom  the  male  offender  ranked  should  be  flogged  and 
exiled;  that  the  granduncle,  the  uncle,  and  two  elder  brothers 
should  be  put  to  death;  that  the  prefect  and  the  rulers  should 
for  a  time  be  deprived  of  their  rank;  that  on  the  face  of  the 
mother  of  the  female  offender  four  Chinese  characters  expres- 
sive of  neglect  of  duty  towards  her  daughter  should  be  tat- 
tooed, and  that  she  be  exiled  to  a  distant  province;  that  the 
father  of  the  female  offender,  a  bachelor  of  arts,  should  not 
be  allowed  to  take  any  higher  literary  degrees,  and  that  he  be 

17 


18  EARLY  GROUP  LIFE 

flogged  and  exiled ;  that  the  son  of  the  offenders  should  receive 
another  name,  and  that  the  lands  of  the  offender  for  a  time 
remain  fallow."     (J.  H.  Gray,  China,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  237  f.) 

Put  beside  this  the  story  of  Achan : 

Achan  had  taken  for  his  own  possession  certain  articles  from 
the  spoil  of  Jericho  which  had  been  set  apart  or  "  devoted  " 
to  Jehovah.  Israel  then  suffered  a  defeat  in  battle.  When 
Achan's  act  became  known,  "  Joshua  and  all  Israel  with  him 
took  ^ Achan,  the  son  of  Zerah,  and  the  mantle,  and  the  wedge 
of  gold,  and  his  sons  and  his  daughters,  and  his  oxen,  and  his 
asses,  and  his  sheep,  and  his  tent,  and  all  that  he  had.  .  .  . 
And  all  Israel  stoned  him  with  stones;  and  they  burned 
them  with  fire  and  stoned  them  with  stones."  (Joshua 
vii:24,  25.) 

The  converse  of  these  situations  is  brought  out  in  the 
regulations  of  the  Kumi,  a  Japanese  local  institution  com- 
prising five  or  more  households : 

*'As  members  of  a  Kumi  we  will  cultivate  friendly  feelings 
even  more  than  with  our  relatives,  and  will  promote  each 
other's  happiness  as  well  as  share  each  other's  grief.  If  there 
is  an  unprincipled  or  lawless  person  in  a  Kumi,  we  shall  all 
share  the  responsibility  for  him."  (Simmons  and  Wigmore, 
Transactions,  Asiatic  Society  of  Japan,  xix.,  177  f.) 

For  another  aspect  of  the  group  take  Caesar's  descrip- 
tion of  landholding  among  the  Germans: 

**No  one  possesses  privately  a  definite  extent  of  land;  no 
one  has  limited  fields  of  his  own;  but  every  year  the  magis- 
trates and  chiefs  distribute  the  land  to  the  clans  and  the 
kindred  groups  (gentibus  cognationihusque  hominum)  and  to 
those  (other  groups)  who  live  together."  (De  Bell.  Gall., 
VI.,  22.) 

Of  the  Greeks,  our  intellectual  ancestors,  as  well  as 
fellow  Aryans,  it  is  stated  that  in  Attica,  even  to  a  late 
period,  the  land  remained  to  a  large  degree  in  possession 
of  ideal  persons,  gods,  phylae  (tribes)  or  phratries,  kin- 
ships, political  communities.  Even  when  the  superficies 
of  the  land  might  be  regarded  as  private,  mines  were  re- 


TYPICAL  FACTS  OF  GROUP  LIFE  19 

served  as  public/    The  basis  on  which  these  kinship  groups 
rested  is  thus  stated  by  Grote :  ^ 

"All  these  phratric  and  gentile  associations,  the  larger  as 
well  as  the  smaller,  were  founded  upon  the  same  principles 
and  tendencies  of  the  Grecian  mind — a  coalescence  of  the 
idea  of  worship  with  that  of  ancestry,  or  of  communion  in 
certain  special  religious  rites  with  communion  of  blood,  real 
or  supposed."  "The  god  or  hero,  to  whom  the  assembled 
members  offered  their  sacrifices,  was  conceived  as  the  primitive 
ancestor  to  whom  they  owed  their  origin." 

Coulanges  gives  a  similar  statement  as  to  the  ancient 
family  group :  ^ 

"The  members  of  the  ancient  family  were  united  by  some- 
thing more  powerful  than  birth,  affection,  or  physical  strength ; 
this  was  the  religion  of  the  sacred  fire,  and  of  dead  ancestors. 
This  caused  the  family  to  form  a  single  body  both  in  this  life 
and  in  the  next." 

Finally,  the  following  passage  on  clanship  armong  the 
Kafirs  brings  out  two  points:  (1)  That  such  a  group  life 
implies  feelings  and  ideas  of  a  distinctive  sort;  and  (2) 
that  it  has  a  strength  rooted  in  the  very  necessities  of  life. 

"A  Kafir  feels  that  the  *frame  that  binds  him  in'  extends  to 
the  clan.  The  sense  of  solidarity  of  the  family  in  Europe  is 
thin  and  feeble  compared  to  the  full-blooded  sense  of  cor- 
porate union  of  the  Kafir  clan.  The  claims  of  the  clan 
entirely  swamp  the  rights  of  the  individual.  The  system  of 
tribal  solidarity,  which  has  worked  so  well  in  its  smoothness 
that  it  might  satisfy  the  utmost  dreams  of  the  socialist,  is  a 
standing  proof  of  the  sense  of  corporate  union  of  the  clan.  In 
olden  days  a  man  did  not  have  any  feeling  of  personal  injury 
when  a  chief  made  him  work  for  white  men  and  then  told  him 
to  give  all,  or  nearly  all  of  his  wages  to  his  chief;  the  money 
was  kept  within  the  clan,  and  what  was  the  good  of  the  clan 
was  the  good  of  the  individual  and  vice  versa.     The  striking 

*  Wilamowitz-MoUendorf,  Aristotle  und  Athen,  II.  93,  47. 
^  History  of  Greece,  III.,  55. 

•  The  Ancient  City,  p.  51. 


W  EARLY  GROUP  LIFE 

thing  about  this  unity  of  the  clan  is  that  it  was  not  a  thought- 
out  plan  imposed  from  without  by  legislation  upon  an  unwill- 
ing people,  but  it  was  a  felt-out  plan  which  arose  spontane- 
ously along  the  line  of  least  resistance.  If  one  member  of  the 
clan  sujffered,  all  the  members  suffered,  not  in  sentimental 
phraseology,  but  in  real  fact."  (Dudley  Kidd,  Savage  Child- 
hood, pp.  74  f.) 

The  above  passages  refer  to  Aryan,  Semitic,  Mon- 
golian, and  Kafir  peoples.  They  could  be  matched  by 
similar  statements  concerning  nearly  every  people.  They 
suggest  a  way  of  living,  and  a  view  of  life  very  different 
from  that  of  the  American  or  of  most  Europeans.^  The 
American  or  European  belongs  to  groups  of  various  kinds, 
but  he  "joins"  most  of  them.  He  of  course  is  born  into 
a  family,  but  he  does  not  stay  in  it  all  his  life  unless  he 
pleases.  And  he  may  choose  his  own  occupation,  residence, 
wife,  political  party,  religion,  social  club,  or  even  national 
allegiance.  He  may  own  or  sell  his  own  house,  give  or 
bequeath  his  property,  and  is  responsible  generally  speak- 
ing for  no  one's  acts  but  his  own.  This  makes  him  an 
"individual"  in  a  much  fuller  sense  than  he  would  be  if 
all  these  relations  were  settled  for  him.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  member  of  such  groups  as  are  referred  to  in  our  ex- 
amples above,  has  all,  or  nearly  all,  his  relations  fixed  when 
he  is  born  into  a  certain  clan  or  family  group.  This  set- 
tles his  occupation,  dwelling,  gods,  and  pohtics.  If  it 
doesn't  decide  upon  his  wife,  it  at  least  usually  fixes  the 
group  from  which  she  must  be  taken.  His  conditions,  in 
the  words  of  Maine,  are  thus  of  "status,"  not  of  "con- 
tract." This  makes  a  vast  difference  in  his  whole  attitude. 
It  will  help  to  bring  out  more  clearly  by  contrast  the 
character  of  present  morality,  as  well  as  to  see  moral  life 
in  the  making,  if  we  examine  more  carefully  this  group 

*  Russian  mirs,  South  Slavonian  "joint"  families,  Corsican  clans 
with  their  vendettas,  and  tribes  in  the  Caucasus  still  have  the  group 
interest  strong,  and  the  feuds  of  the  mountaineers  in  some  of  the 
border  states  illustrate  family  solidarity. 


KINSHIP  AND  HOUSEHOLD  GROUPS        21 

life.  We  shall  find,  as  brought  out  in  the  passages  already 
quoted,  that  the  most  important  type  of  group  is  at 
once  a  kindred  or  family,  an  economic,  a  political,  a  reli- 
gious, and  a  moral  unit.  First,  however,  we  notice  briefly 
the  most  important  types  of  groups. 

§  2.    KINSHIP    AND    HOUSEHOLD    GROUPS 

I.  The  Kinship  Group. — The  kinship  group  is  a  body 
of  persons  who  conceive  of  themselves  as  sprung  from  one 
ancestor,  and  hence  as  having  in  their  veins  one  blood. 
It  does  not  matter  for  our  study  whether  each  group 
has  actually  sprung  from  a  single  ancestor.  It  is  highly 
probable  that  the  contingencies  of  food-supply  or  of  war 
may  have  been  an  original  cause  for  the  constitution  of 
the  group,  wholly  or  in  part.  But  this  is  of  no  conse- 
quence for  our  purpose.  The  important  point  is  that 
the  members  of  the  group  regard  themselves  as  of  one 
stock.  In  some  cases  the  ancestor  is  believed  to  have  been 
an  animal.  Then  we  have  the  so-called  totem  group, 
which  is  found  among  North  American  Indians,  Africans, 
and  Australians,  and  was  perhaps  the  early  form  of 
Semitic  groups.  In  other  cases,  some  hero  or  even  some 
god  is  named  as  the  ancestor.  In  any  case  the  essential 
part  of  the  theory  remains  the  same:  namely,  that  one 
blood  circulates  in  all  the  members,  and  hence  that  the 
life  of  each  is  a  part  of  the  common  life  of  the  group. 
There  are  then  no  degrees  of  kindred.  This  group,  it 
should  be  noted,  is  not  the  same  as  the  family,  for  in  the 
family,  as  a  rule,  husband  and  wife  are  of  different  kinship 
groups,  and  continue  their  several  kinship  relations. 
Among  some  peoples  marriage  ceremonies,  indeed,  sym- 
bolize the  admission  of  the  wife  into  the  husband's  kinship, 
and  in  this  case  the  family  becomes  a  kinship  group,  but 
this  is  by  no  means  universally  the  case. 

The  feeling  that  one  is  first  and  foremost  a  member  of 


n  EARLY  GROUP  LIFE 

a  group,  rather  than  an  individual,  is  furthered  among 
certain  kin  groups  by  a  scheme  of  class  relationship. 
According  to  this  system,  instead  of  having  one  definite 
person  whom  I,  and  I  alone,  regard  and  address  as  father 
or  mother,  grandfather,  uncle,  brother,  sister,  I  call  any 
one  of  a  given  group  or  class  of  persons  mother,  grand- 
father, brother,  sister.  And  any  one  else  who  is  in  the 
same  class  with  me  calls  the  same  persons,  mother,  grand- 
father, brother,  or  sister.^  The  simplest  form  of  such  a 
class  system  is  that  found  among  the  Hawaiians.  Here 
there  are  five  classes  based  upon  the  generations  corre- 
sponding to  what  we  call  grandparents,  parents,  brothers 
and  sisters,  children,  and  grandchildren,  but  the  words 
used  to  designate  them  do  not  imply  any  such  specific 
parentage  as  do  these  words  with  us.  Bearing  this  in 
mind,  we  may  say  that  every  one  in  the  first  class  is 
equally  grandparent  to  every  one  in  the  third ;  every  one 
in  the  third  is  equally  brother  or  sister  to  every  other  in 
the  third,  equally  father  or  mother  to  every  one  in  the 
fourth,  and  so  on.  In  Australia  the  classes  are  more 
numerous  and  the  relationships  far  more  intricate  and 
complicated,  but  this  does  not,  as  might  be  supposed,  ren- 
der the  bond  relatively  unimportant;  on  the  contrary,  his 
relationship  to  every  other  class  is  "one  of  the  most 
important  points  with  which  each  individual  must  be 
acquainted" ;  it  determines  marital  relations,  food  dis- 
tribution, salutations,  and  general  conduct  to  an  extraor- 
dinary degree.  A  kinship  group  was  known  as  "tribe" 
or  "family"  (English  translation)  among  the  Israelites; 

*  "In  all  the  tribes  with  whom  we  are  acquainted  all  the  terms 
coincide  without  any  exception  in  the  recognition  of  relationships, 
all  of  which  are  dependent  on  the  existence  of  a  classificatory  system, 
the  fundamental  idea  of  which  is  that  the  women  of  certain  groups 
marry  the  men  of  others.  Each  tribe  has  one  term  applied  indis- 
criminately to  the  man  or  woman  whom  he  actually  marries  and  to 
all  whom  he  might  lawfully  marry,  that  is,  who  belong  to  the  right 
group:  One  term  to  his  actual  mother  and  to  all  the  women  whom 
his  father  might  lawfully  have  married." — Spencer  and  Gillek, 
Native  Tribes  of  Central  Australia,  p.  57. 


KINSHIP  AND  HOUSEHOLD  GROUPS        23 

as  genos,  phratria,  and  phyle  among  the  Greeks,  gens 
and  curia  among  the  Romans ;  clan  in  Scotland ;  sept  in 
Ireland;  Sippe  in  Germany. 

2.  The  Family  or  Household  Group. — Two  kinds  of 
families  may  be  noted  as  significant  for  our  purpose.  In 
the  maternal  family  the  woman  remains  among  her  own 
kin,  and  the  children  are  naturally  reckoned  as  belonging 
to  the  mother's  kin.  The  husband  and  father  is  more  or 
less  a  guest  or  outsider.  In  a  blood  feud  he  would  have 
to  side  with  his  own  clan  and  against  that  of  his  wife 
if  his  clan  quarreled  with  hers.  Clan  and  family  are  thus 
seen  to  be  distinct.  In  the  paternal^  which  easily  becomes 
the  patriarchal  family  the  wife  leaves  her  relatives  to 
live  in  her  husband's  house  and  among  his  kin.  She  might 
then,  as  at  Rome,  abjure  her  own  kindred  and  be  formally 
adopted  into  her  husband's  gens  or  clan.  The  Greek 
myth  of  Orestes  is  an  illustration  of  the  clashing  of  these 
two  conceptions  of  father  kin  and  mother  kin,  and  Ham- 
let's sparing  of  his  mother  under  similar  circumstances, 
shows  a  more  modern  point  of  view. 

It  is  evident  that  with  the  prevalence  of  the  paternal 
type  of  family,  clan  and  household  ties  will  mutually 
strengthen  each  other.  This  will  make  an  important  dif- 
ference in  the  father's  relation  to  the  children,  and  gives 
a  much  firmer  basis  for  ancestral  religion.  But  in  many 
respects  the  environing  atmosphere,  the  pressure  and  sup- 
port, the  group  sympathy  and  group  tradition,  are  essen- 
tially similar.  The  important  thing  is  that  every  person 
is  a  member  of  a  kindred,  and  likewise,  of  some  family 
group,  and  that  he  thinks,  feels,  and  acts  accordingly.^ 

*  The  fact  that  primitive  man  is  at  once  an  individual  and  a  mem- 
ber of  a  group — that  he  has  as  it  were  two  personalities  or  selves, 
an  individual  self  and  a  clan-self,  or  "tribal-self,"  as  Clifford  called 
it, — is  not  merely  a  psychologist's  way  of  stating  things.  The  Kafir 
people,  according  to  their  most  recent  student,  Mr.  Dudley  Kidd, 
have  two  distinct  words  to  express  these  two  selves.  They  call  one 
the  idhlozi  and  other  the  itonyo.  "The  idhlozi  is  the  individual  and 
personal  spirit   born   with   each  child — something   fresh   and   unique 


24  EARLY  GROUP  LIFE 

§  3.    THE  KINSHIP  AND  FAMILY  GROUPS  ARE  ALSO  ECONOMIC 
AND    INDUSTRIAL    UNITS 

I.  The  Land  and  the  Group. — In  land,  as  a  rule,  no 
individual  ownership  in  the  modern  sense  was  recognized. 
Among  hunting  and  pastoral  peoples  there  was,  of  course, 
no  "ownership"  by  any  group  in  the  strict  sense  of  modern 
law.  But  none  the  less,  the  group,  large  or  small,  had 
its  fairly  well-defined  territory  within  which  it  hunted 
and  fished;  in  the  pastoral  life  it  had  its  pasture  range 
and  its  wells  of  water.  With  agriculture  a  more,  defi- 
nite sense  of  possession  arose.  But  possession  was  by 
the  tribe  or  gens  or  household,  not  by  the  individual : 

"The  land  belonged  to  the  clan,  and  the  clan  was  settled 
upon  the  land.  A  man  was  thus  not  a  member  of  the  clan, 
because  he  lived  upon,  or  even  owned,  the  land;  but  he  lived 
upon  the  land,  and  had  interests  in  it,  because  he  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  clan."  ^ 

Greek  and  German  customs  were  quoted  at  the  outset. 
Among  the  Celts  the  laws  of  ancient  Ireland  show  a  transi- 
tional stage.  "The  land  of  the  tribe  consisted  of  two 
distinct  allotments,  the  'fechfine'  or  tribeland,  and  the 
*orta'  or  inheritance  land.  This  latter  belonged  as  indi- 
vidual property  to  the  men  of  the  chieftain  groups."  ^  The 
Hindoo  joint-family  and  the  house-community  of  the 
Southern    Slavonians    are    present    examples    of    group 

which  is  never  shared  with  any  one  else — while  the  itongo  is  the  ances- 
tral and  corporate  spirit  which  is  not  personal  but  tribal,  or  a  thing 
of  the  clan,  the  possession  of  which  is  obtained  not  by  birth  but  by 
certain  initiatory  rites.  The  idhlozi  is  personal  and  inalienable, 
for  it  is  wrapped  up  with  the  man's  personality,  and  at  death  it 
lives  near  the  grave,  or  goes  into  the  snake  or  totem  of  the  clan; 
but  the  itongo  is  of  the  clan,  and  haunts  the  living-hut;  at  death  it 
returns  to  the  tribal  amatongo  (ancestral  spirits).  A  man's  share 
in  this  clan-spirit  (itongo)  is  lost  when  he  becomes  a  Christian,  or 
when  he  is  in  any  way  unfaithful  to  the  interests  of  the  clan,  but 
a  man  never  loses  his  idhlozi  any  more  than  he  ever  loses  his 
individuality." — Savage  Childhood,  pp.  14  f. 

*  Hearn,  The  Aryan  Household,  p.  212. 

*  M?icLennan,  Studies  in  Ancient  History,  p.  381, 


THE  GROUP  AN  ECONOMIC  UNIT  25 

ownership.  They  are  joint  in  food,  worship,  and  estate. 
They  have  a  common  home,  a  common  table.  Maxims  of 
the  Slavs  express  their  appreciation  of  community  life: 
"The  common  household  waxes  rich" ;  "The  more  bees  in 
the  hive,  the  heavier  it  weighs."  One  difficulty  in  the  Eng- 
lish administration  of  Ireland  has  been  this  radical  dif- 
ference between  the  modern  Englishman's  individualistic 
conception  of  property  and  the  Irishman's  more  primitive 
conception  of  group  or  clan  ownership.  Whether  rightly 
or  not,  the  Irish  tenant  refuses  to  regard  himself  as  merely 
a  tenant.  He  considers  himself  as  a  member  of  a  family 
or  group  which  formerly  owned  the  land,  and  he  does 
not  admit  the  justice,  even  though  he  cannot  disprove 
the  legality,  of  an  alienation  of  the  group  possession.  For 
such  a  clan  or  household  as  we  have  described  is  not  merely 
equivalent  to  the  persons  who  compose  it  at  a  given  time. 
Its  property  belongs  to  the  ancestors  and  to  the  pos- 
terity as  well  as  to  the  present  possessors;  and  hence  in 
some  groups  which  admit  an  individual  possession  or  use 
during  life,  no  right  of  devise  or  inheritance  is  permitted. 
The  property  reverts  at  death  to  the  whole  gens  or  clan. 
In  other  cases  a  child  may  inherit,  but  in  default  of  such 
an  heir  the  property  passes  to  the  common  possession. 
The  right  to  bequeath  property  to  the  church  was  long 
a  point  on  which  civil  law  and  canon  law  were  at  variance. 
The  relations  of  the  primitive  clan  or  household  group  to 
land  were  therefore  decidedly  adapted  to  keep  the  indi- 
vidual's good  bound  up  with  the  good  of  the  group. 

2.  Movable  Goods. — In  the  case  of  movable  goods,  such 
as  tools,  weapons,  cattle,  the  practice  is  not-  uniform. 
When  the  goods  are  the  product  of  the  individual's  own 
skill  or  prowess  they  are  usually  his.  Tools,  weapons, 
slaves  or  women  captured,  products  of  some  special  craft 
or  skill,  are  thus  usually  private.  But  when  the  group 
acts  as  a  unit  the  product  is  usually  shared.  The  buffalo 
and  salmon  and  large  game  were  thus  for  the  whole  Indian 


«6  EARLY  GROUP  LIFE 

group  which  hunted  or  fished  together ;  and  in  Hke  manner 
the  maize  which  was  tended  by  the  women  belonged  to 
the  household  in  common.  Slavic  and  Indian  house  com- 
munities at  the  present  day  have  a  common  interest  in 
the  household  property.  Even  women  and  children  among 
some  tribes  are  regarded  as  the  property  of  the  group. 

§  4.    THE    KINSHIP    AND    FAMILY    GROUPS    WERE    POLITICAL 

BODIES 

In  a  modern  family  the  parents  exercise  a  certain  degree 
of  control  over  the  children,  but  this  is  limited  in  several 
respects.  No  parent  is  allowed  to  put  a  child  to  death, 
or  to  permit  him  to  grow  up  in  ignorance.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  parent  is  not  allowed  to  protect  the  child  from 
arrest  if  a  serious  injury  has  been  done  by  him.  The 
State,  through  its  laws  and  officers,  is  regarded  by  us  as 
the  highest  authority  in  a  certain  great  sphere  of  action. 
It  must  settle  conflicting  claims  and  protect  life  and  prop- 
erty; in  the  opinion  of  many  it  must  organize  the  life  of 
its  members  where  the  cooperation  of  every  member  is 
necessary  for  some  common  good.  In  early  group  life 
there  may  or  may  not  be  some  political  body  over  and 
above  the  clan  or  family,  but  in  any  case  the  Jcin  or  family 
is  itself  a  sort  of  political  State.  Not  a  State  in  the 
sense  that  the  political  powers  are  deliberately  separated 
from  personal,  religious,  and  family  ties ;  men  gained  a 
new  conception  of  authority  and  rose  to  a  higher  level 
of  possibilities  when  they  consciously  separated  and  de- 
fined government  and  laws  from  the  undifferentiated  whole 
of  a  religious  and  kindred  group.  But  yet  this  primitive 
group  was  after  all  a  State,  not  a  mob,  or  a  voluntary 
society,  or  a  mere  family;  for  (1)  it  was  a  more  or  less 
permanently  organized  body;  (2)  it  exercised  control  over 
its  members  which  they  regarded  as  rightful  authority,  not 
9-s  mere  force;  (3)  it  was  not  limited  by  any  higher  author- 


THE  GROUP  A  POLITICAL  UNIT  Tl 

ity,  and  acted  more  or  less  effectively  for  the  interest  of  the 
whole.  The  representatives  of  this  political  aspect  of  the 
group  may  be  chiefs  or  sachems,  a  council  of  elders,  or,  as 
in  Rome,  the  House  Father,  whose  patria  potestas  marks 
the  extreme  development  of  the  patriarchal  family. 

The  control  exercised  by  the  group  over  individual 
members  assumes  various  forms  among  the  different  peo- 
ples. The  more  important  aspects  are  a  right  over 
life  and  bodily  freedom,  in  some  cases  extending  to  power 
of  putting  to  death,  maiming,  chastising,  deciding  whether 
newly  born  children  shall  be  preserved  or  not;  the  right 
of  betrothal,  which  includes  control  over  the  marriage 
portion  received  for  its  women ;  and  the  right  to  adminis- 
ter property  of  the  kin  in  behalf  of  the  kin  as  a  whole. 
It  is  probable  that  among  all  these  various  forms  of  con- 
trol, the  control  over  the  marriage  relations  of  women 
has  been  most  persistent.  One  reason  for  this  control 
may  have  been  the  fact  that  the  group  was  bound  to  resent 
injuries  of  a  member  of  the  group  who  had  been  married 
to  another.  Hence  this  responsibility  seemed  naturally 
to  involve  the  right  of  decision  as  to  her  marriage. 

It  is  Membership  in  the  Group  Which  Gives  the  Indi- 
vidual Whatever  Rights  He  Has. — According  to  pres- 
ent conceptions  this  is  still  largely  true  of  legal  rights. 
A  State  may  allow  a  citizen  of  another  country  to  own 
land,  to  sue  in  its  courts,  and  will  usually  give  him  a 
certain  amount  of  protection,  but  the  first-named  rights 
are  apt  to  be  limited,  and  it  is  only  a  few  years  since 
Chief  Justice  Taney's  dictum  stated  the  existing  legal 
theory  of  the  United  States  to  be  that  the  negro  "had  no 
rights  which  the  white  man  was  bound  to  respect."  Even 
where  legal  theory  does  not  recognize  race  or  other  dis- 
tinctions, it  is  often  hard  in  practice  for  an  alien  to  get 
justice.  In  primitive  clan  or  family  groups  this  principle 
is  in  full  force.  Justice  is  a  privilege  which  falls  to  a 
man  as  belonging  to  some  group — not  otherwise.     The 


28  EARLY  GROUP  LIFE 

member  of  the  clan  or  the  household  or  the  village  com- 
munity has  a  claim,  but  the  stranger  has  no  standing. 
He  may  be  treated  kindly,  as  a  guest,  but  he  cannot  de- 
mand "justice"  at  the  hands  of  any  group  but  his  own. 
In  this  conception  of  rights  within  the  group  we  have  the 
prototype  of  modern  civil  law.  The  dealing  of  clan 
with  clan  is  a  matter  of  war  or  negotiation,  not  of  law; 
and  the  clanless  man  is  an  "outlaw"  in  fact  as  well  as  in 
name. 

Joint  Responsibility  and  mutual  support,  as  shown  in 
the  blood  feud,  was  a  natural  consequence  of  this  fusion  of 
political  and  kindred  relations.  In  modern  life  States 
treat  each  other  as  wholes  in  certain  respects.  If  some 
member  of  a  savage  tribe  assaults  a  citizen  of  one  of  the 
civilized  nations,  the  injured  party  invokes  the  help  of 
his  government.  A  demand  is  usually  made  that  the  guilty 
party  be  delivered  up  for  trial  and  punishment.  If  he  is 
not  forthcoming  a  "punitive  expedition"  is  organized 
against  the  whole  tribe;  guilty  and  innocent  suffer  alike. 
Or  in  lieu  of  exterminating  the  offending  tribe,  in  part  or 
completely,  the  nation  of  the  injured  man  may  accept 
an  indemnity  in  money  or  land  from  the  offender's  tribe. 
Recent  dealings  between  British  and  Africans,  Germans 
and  Africans,  France  and  Morocco,  the  United  States 
and  the  Filipinos,  the  Powers  and  China,  illustrate  this, 
The  State  protects  its  own  members  against  other  States, 
and  avenges  them  upon  other  States.  Each  opposes  a 
united  body  to  the  other.  The  same  principle  carried  out 
through  private  citizens  as  public  agents,  and  applied  to 
towns,  is  seen  in  the  practice  which  prevailed  in  the  Middle 
Ages.  "When  merchants  of  one  country  had  been  de- 
frauded by  those  of  another,  or  found  it  impossible  to  col- 
lect a  debt  from  them,  the  former  country  issued  letters 
of  marque  and  reprisal,  authorizing  the  plunder  of  any 
citizens  of  the  offending  town  until  satisfaction  should 
be  obtained."     Transfer  the  situation  to  the  early  clan 


THE  GROUP  A  POLITICAL  UNIT  29 

or  tribe,  and  this  solidarity  is  increased  because  each  mem- 
ber is  related  to  the  rest  by  blood,  as  well  as  by  national 
unity.  The  Arabs  do  not  say  "The  blood  of  M.  or  N.  has 
been  spilt,"  naming  the  man;  they  say,  "Our  blood  has 
been  spilt."  ^  The  whole  group,  therefore,  feels  injured 
and  regards  every  man  in  the  offender's  kin  as  more  or 
less  responsible.  The  next  of  kin,  the  "avenger  of  blood," 
stands  first  in  duty  and  privilege,  but  the  rest  are  all 
involved  in  greater  or  less  degree. 

Within  the  Group  each  member  will  be  treated  more 
or  less  fully  as  an  individual.  If  he  takes  his  kinsman's 
wife  or  his  kinsman's  game  he  will  be  dealt  with  by  the 
authorities  or  by  the  public  opinion  of  his  group.  He 
will  not  indeed  be  put  to  death  if  he  kills  his  kinsman, 
but  he  will  be  hated,  and  may  be  driven  out.  "Since  the 
living  kin  is  not  killed  for  the  sake  of  the  dead  kin,  every- 
body will  hate  to  see  him."  ^ 

When  now  a  smaller  group,  like  a  family,  is  at  the 
same  time  a  part  of  a  larger  group  like  a  phratry  or  a 
tribe,  we  have  the  phase  of  solidarity  which  is  so  puzzling 
to  the  modern.  We  hold  to  solidarity  in  war  or  between 
nations ;  but  with  a  few  exceptions  ^  we  have  replaced  it 
by  individual  responsibility  of  adults  for  debts  and  crimes 
so  far  as  the  civil  law  has  jurisdiction.  In  earlier  times 
the  higher  group  or  authority  treated  the  smaller  as  a 
unit.  Achan's  family  all  perished  with  him.  The  Chinese 
sense  of  justice  recognized  a  series  of  degrees  in  responsi- 
bility dependent  on  nearness  of  kin  or  of  residence,  or  of 
occupation.  The  Welsh  system  held  kinsmen  as  far  as 
second  cousins  responsible  for  insult  or  injury  short  of 
homicide,  and  as  far  as  fifth  cousins  (seventh  degree  of 
descent)    for   the  payment  in   case  of  homicide.     "The 

*  Robertson  Smith,  Kinship  and  Marriage  in  Early  Arabia,  p.  23. 

*  Cited  from  the  Gwentian  Code.  Seebohm,  The  Tribal  System  in 
Wales,  p.  104. 

*  E.g.,  certain  joint  responsibilities  of  husband  and  wife. 


30  EARLY  GROUP  LIFE 

mutual  responsibility  of  kinsmen  for  saraal  and  galanas 
(the  Wergild  of  the  Germans),  graduated  according  to 
nearness  of  kin  to  the  murdered  man  and  to  the  criminal, 
reveals  more  clearly  than  anything  else  the  extent  to 
which  the  individual  was  bound  by  innumerable  meshes  to 
his  fixed  place  in  the  tribal  community."  ^ 


§  5.    THE   KINSHIP   OR   HOUSEHOLD   GROUP   WAS   A   RELIGIOUS 

UNIT 

The  kinship  or  household  group  determined  largely 
both  the  ideas  and  the  cultus  of  primitive  religion; 
conversely  religion  gave  completeness,  value,  and  sacred- 
ness  to  the  group  life.  Kinship  with  unseen  powers  or 
persons  was  the  fundamental  religious  idea.  The  kinship 
group  as  a  religious  body  simply  extended  the  kin  to 
include  invisible  as  well  as  visible  members.  The  essen- 
tial feature  of  religion  is  not  unseen  beings  who  are  feared, 
or  cajoled,  or  controlled  by  magic.  It  is  rather  kindred 
unseen  beings,  who  may  be  feared,  but  who  are  also  rever- 
enced and  loved.  The  kinship  may  be  physical  or  spirit- 
ual, but  however  conceived  it  makes  gods  and  worshippers 
members  of  one  group.^ 

I.  Totem  Groups. — In  totem  groups,  the  prevailing 
conception  is  that  one  blood  circulates  in  all  the  members 
of  the  group  and  that  the  ancestor  of  the  whole  group 
is  some  object  of  nature,  such  as  sun  or  moon,  plant  or 

*  Seebohm,  The  Tribal  System  in  Wales,  pp.  103  f. 

^  "From  the  earliest  times,  religion,  as  distinct  from  magic  or  sor- 
cery, addresses  itself  to  kindred  and  friendly  beings,  who  may  indeed 
be  angry  with  their  people  for  a  time,  but  are  always  placable 
except  to  the  enemies  of  their  worshippers  or  to  renegade  members 
of  the  community.  It  is  not  with  a  vague  fear  of  unknown  powers, 
but  with  a  loving  reverence  for  known  gods  who  are  knit  to  their 
worshippers  by  strong  bonds  of  kinship,  that  religion  in  the  only  true 
sense  of  the  word  begins." — Robertson  Smith,  Religion  of  the 
Semites,  p.  54. 


THE  GROUP  A  RELIGIOUS  UNIT  31 

animal.  Perhaps  the  most  interesting  and  intelHgible  ac- 
count of  the  relation  between  the  animal  ancestor  and  the 
members  of  the  group  is  that  which  has  recently  been 
discovered  in  certain  Australian  tribes  who  believe  that 
every  child,  at  its  birth,  is  the  reincarnation  of  some  previ- 
ous member  of  the  group,  and  that  these  ancestors  were 
an  actual  transformation  of  animals  and  plants,  or  of 
water,  fire,  wind,  sun,  moon,  or  stars.  Such  totem  groups 
cherish  that  animal  which  they  believe  to  be  their  ancestor 
and  ordinarily  will  not  kill  it  or  use  it  for  food.  The 
various  ceremonies  of  religious  initiation  are  intended  to 
impress  upon  the  younger  members  of  the  group  the 
sacredness  of  this  kindred  bond  which  units  them  to  each 
other  and  to  their  totem.  The  beginnings  of  decorative  art 
frequently  express  the  importance  of  the  symbol,  and  the 
totem  is  felt  to  be  as  distinctly  a  member  of  the  group  as 
is  any  of  the  human  members. 

2.  Ancestral  Religion. — ^At  a  somewhat  higher  stage 
of  civilization,  and  usually  in  connection  with  the  patri- 
archal households  or  groups  in  which  kinship  is  reckoned 
through  the  male  line,  the  invisible  members  of  the  group 
are  the  departed  ancestors.  This  ancestor  worship  is  a 
power  to-day  in  China  and  Japan,  and  in  the  tribes  of 
the  Caucasus.  The  ancient  Semites,  Romans,  Teutons, 
Celts,  Hindoos,  all  had  their  kindred  gods  of  the  household. 
The  Roman  genius,  lares,  penates,  and  manes,  perhaps  the 
Hebrew  teraphim, — prized  by  Laban  and  Rachel,  kept 
by  David,  valued  in  the  time  of  Hosea, — were  loved  and 
honored  side  by  side  with  other  deities.  Sometimes  the 
nature  deities,  such  as  Zeus  or  Jupiter,  were  incorporated 
with  the  kinship  or  family  gods.  The  Greek  Hestia  and 
Roman  Vesta  symbolized  the  sacredness  of  the  hearth.  The 
kinship  tie  thus  determined  for  every  member  of  the  group 
his  religion. 

Religion  Completes  the  Group. — Conversely,  this  bond 
of  union  with  unseen,  yet  ever  present  and  powerful  kin- 


32  EARLY  GROUP  LIFE 

dred  spirits  completed  the  group  and  gave  to  it  its  highest 
authority,  its  fullest  value,  its  deepest  sacredness.  If  the 
unseen  kin  are  nature  beings,  they  symbolize  for  man  his 
dependence  upon  nature  and  his  kinship  in  some  vague 
fashion  with  the  cosmic  forces.  If  the  gods  are  the 
departed  ancestors,  they  are  then  conceived  as  still  potent, 
like  Father  Anchises,  to  protect  and  guide  the  fortunes 
of  their  offspring.  The  wisdom,  courage,  and  affection, 
as  well  as  the  power  of  the  great  heroes  of  the  group, 
live  on.  The  fact  that  the  gods  are  unseen  enhances  tre- 
mendously their  supposed  power.  The  visible  members  of 
the  group  may  be  strong,  but  their  strength  can  be  meas- 
ured. The  living  elders  may  be  wise,  yet  they  are  not 
far  beyond  the  rest  of  the  group.  But  the  invisible  beings 
cannot  be  measured.  The  long-departed  ancestor  may 
have  inconceivable  age  and  wisdom.  The  imagination  has 
free  scope  to  magnify  his  power  and  invest  him  with  all 
the  ideal  values  it  can  conceive.  The  religious  bond  is, 
therefore,  fitted  to  be  the  bearer,  as  the  religious  object 
is  the  embodiment  in  concrete  form,  of  the  higher  stand- 
ards of  the  group,  and  to  furnish  the  sanction  for  their 
enforcement  or  adoption. 


§  6.    GROUPS   OR    CLASSES   ON   THE   BASIS   OF   AGE   AND   SEX 

While  the  kindred  and  family  groups  are  by  far  the 
most  important  for  early  morality,  other  groupings  are 
significant.  The  division  by  ages  is  widespread.  The 
simplest  scheme  gives  three  classes:  (1)  children,  (2) 
young  men  and  maidens,  (3)  married  persons.  Puberty 
forms  the  bound  between  the  first  and  second;  marriage 
that  between  the  second  and  third.  Distinct  modes  of 
dress  and  ornament,  frequently  also  different  residences 
and  standards  of  conduct,  belong  to  these  several  classes. 
Of  groups  on  the  basis  of  sex,  the  men's  clubs  are  espe- 


AGE  AND  SEX  CLASSES  33 

cially  worthy  of  note.  They  flourish  now  chiefly  in  the 
islands  of  the  Pacific,  but  there  are  indications,  such  as 
the  common  meals  of  the  Spartans,  of  a  wide  spread  among 
European  peoples  in  early  times.  The  fundamental  idea  ^ 
seems  to  be  that  of  a  common  house  for  the  unmarried 
young  men,  where  they  eat,  sleep,  and  pass  their  time, 
whereas  the  women,  children,  and  married  men  sleep  and 
eat  in  the  family  dwelling.  But  in  most  cases  all  the  men 
resort  to  the  clubhouse  by  day.  Strangers  may  be  enter- 
tained there.  It  thus  forms  a  sort  of  general  center  for 
the  men's  activities,  and  for  the  men's  conversation.  As 
such,  it  is  an  important  agency  for  forming  and  express- 
ing public  opinion,  and  for  impressing  upon  the  young 
men  just  entering  the  house  the  standards  of  the  older 
members.  Further,  in  some  cases  these  houses  become  the 
center  of  rites  to  the  dead,  and  thus  add  the  impressive- 
ness  of  religious  significance  to  their  other  activities. 

Finally,  secret  societies  may  be  mentioned  as  a  sub- 
division of  sex  groups,  for  among  primitive  peoples  such 
societies  are  confined  in  almost  all  cases  to  the  men.  They 
seem  in  many  cases  to  have  grown  out  of  the  age  classes 
already  described.  The  transition  from  childhood  to  man- 
hood, mysterious  in  itself,  was  invested  with  further  mys- 
teries by  the  old  men  who  conducted  the  ceremonies  of 
initiation.  Masks  were  worn,  or  the  skulls  of  deceased 
ancestors  were  employed,  to  give  additional  mystery  and 
sanctity.  The  increased  power  gained  by  secrecy  would 
often  be  itself  sufficient  to  form  a  motive  for  such  organ- 
ization, especially  where  they  had  some  end  in  view  not 
approved  by  the  dominant  authorities.  Sometimes  they 
exercise  strict  authority  over  their  members,  and  assume 
judicial  and  punitive  functions,  as  in  the  Vehm  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  Sometimes  they  become  merely  leagues  of 
enemies  to  society. 

^  Schurtz,  Altersklassen  und  Mdnnerbiinde. 


34  EARLY  GROUP  LIFE 

§  7.     MORAL    SIGNIFICANCE     OF     THE    KINDRED    AND    OTHER 

GROUPS 

The  moral  in  this  early  stage  is  not  to  be  looked  for 
as  something  distinct  from  the  political,  religious,  kindred, 
and  sympathetic  aspects  of  the  clan,  family,  and  other 
groups.  The  question  rather  is.  How  far  are  these  very 
political,  religious,  and  other  aspects  implicitly  moral? 
If  by  moral  we  mean  a  conscious  testing  of  conduct  by 
an  inner  and  self-imposed  standard,  if  we  mean  a  freely 
chosen  as  contrasted  with  a  habitual  or  customary  stand- 
ard, then  evidently  we  have  the  moral  only  in  germ.  For  the 
standards  are  group  standards,  rather  than  those  of  indi- 
vidual conscience;  they  operate  largely  through  habit 
rather  than  through  choice.  Nevertheless  they  are  not  set 
for  the  individual  by  outsiders.  They  are  set  by  a  group 
of  which  he  is  a  member.  They  are  enforced  by  a  group 
of  which  he  is  a  member.  Conduct  is  praised  or  blamed, 
punished  or  rewarded  by  the  group  of  which  he  is  a 
member.  Property  is  administered,  industry  is  carried  on, 
wars  and  feuds  prosecuted  for  the  common  good.  What 
the  group  does,  each  member  joins  in  doing.  It  is  a  recip- 
rocal matter:  A  helps  enforce  a  rule  or  impose  a  service 
on  B ;  he  cannot  help  feeling  it  fair  when  the  same  rule 
is  applied  to  himself.  He  has  to  "play  the  game,"  and 
usually  he  expects  to  play  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  Each 
member,  therefore,  is  practicing  certain  acts,  standing  in 
certain  relations,  maintaining  certain  attitudes,  just  be- 
cause he  is  one  of  the  group  which  does  these  things  and 
maintains  these  standards.  And  he  does  not  act  in  com- 
mon with  the  group  without  sharing  in  the  group  emotions. 
It  is  a  grotesque  perversion  to  conceive  the  restraints  of 
gods  and  chiefs  as  purely  external  terrors.  The  primi- 
tive group  could  enter  into  the  spirit  implied  in  the  words 
of  the  Athenian  chorus,  which  required  of  an  alien  upon 
adoption 


MORAL  SIGNIFICANCE  35 

"To  loathe  whate'er  our  state  does  hateful  hold. 
To  reverence  what  it  loves."  ^ 

The  gregarious  instinct  may  be  the  most  elemental  of 
the  impulses  which  bind  the  group  together,  but  it  is 
reinforced  by  sympathies  and  sentiments  growing  out 
of  common  life,  common  work,  common  danger,  common 
religion.  The  morality  is  already  implicit,  it  needs  only  to 
become  conscious.  The  standards  are  embodied  in  the 
old  men  or  the  gods ;  the  rational  good  is  in  the  inherited 
wisdom ;  the  respect  for  sex,  for  property  rights,  and  for 
the  common  good,  is  embodied  in  the  system — but  it  is 
there.  Nor  are  the  union  and  control  a  wholly  objective 
affair.  "The  corporate  union  was  not  a  pretty  religious 
fancy  with  which  to  please  the  mind,  but  was  so  truly  felt 
that  it  formed  an  excellent  basis  from  which  the  altruistic 
sentiment  might  start.  Gross  selfishness  was  curbed,  and 
the  turbulent  passions  were  restrained  by  an  impulse  which 
the  man  felt  welling  up  within  him,  instinctive  and  un- 
bidden. Clannish  camaraderie  was  thus  of  immense  value 
to  the  native  races."  ^ 

LITERATURE 

The  works  of  Hobhouse,  Sumner,  Westermarck  contain  copious 
references  to  the  original  sources.     Among  the  most  valuable  are: 

For  Savage  People:  Waitz,  Anthropologie  der  Naturvolker,  1859-72; 
Tylor,  Primitive  Culture,  1903;  Spencer  and  Gillen,  The  Native  Tribes 
of  Central  Australia,  1899,  and  The  Northern  Tribes  of  Central 
Australia,  1904;  Howitt  and  Fison,  Kamilaroi  and  Kurnai,  1880; 
Howitt,  The  Native  Tribes  of  8.  E.  Australia,  1904;  N.  Thomas, 
Kinship,  Organization  and  Group  Marriages  in  Australia,  1906; 
Morgan,  Houses  and  House-life  of  the  American  Aborigines,  1881, 
The  League  of  the  Iroquois,  1851,  System^s  of  Consanguinity,  Smith- 
sonian Contributions,  1871,  Ancient  Society,  1877.  Many  papers  in 
the  Reports  of  the  Bureau  of  Ethnology,  especially  by  Powell  in  1st, 
1879-80;  Dorsey  in  3rd,  1881-82,  Mendeleff  in  19th,  1893-94. 

For  India,  China,  and  Japan:  Lyall,  Asiatic  Studies,  Religious 
and  Social,  1882;  Gray,  China,  1878;  Smith,  Chinese  Characteristics, 
1894;  Village  Life  in  China,  1899;  Nitobe,  Bushido,  1905;  L.  Hearn, 
Japan,  1904. 

^  (Edipus  at  Colonus,  vv.  186  f. 

*  Dudley  Kidd,  Savage  Childhood,  pp.  74  f. 


36  EARLY  GROUP  LIFE 

For  Semitic  akd  Indo-Germakic  Peoples:  W.  R.  Smith,  Kinship 
and  Marriage  in  Early  Arabia,  1885;  The  Religion  of  the  Semites, 
1894;  W.  Hearn,  The  Aryan  Household,  1879;  Coulanges,  The  Ancient 
City,  18T3;  Seebohm,  The  Tribal  System  in  Wales,  1895,  and  Tribal 
Custom  in  Anglo-Sa^on  Law,  1903;  Krauss,  Sitte  und  Brauch  der 
Sudslaven,  1885. 

General:  Grosse,  Die  Formen  der  Familie  und  die  Formen  der 
Wirthschaft,  1896;  Starke,  The  Primitive  Family,  1889;  Maine,  An- 
cient Law,  1885;  McLennan,  Studies  in  Ancient  History,  1886;  Rivers, 
On  the  Origin  of  the  Classificatory  System  of  Relationships,  in  An- 
thropological Essays,  presented  to  E.  B.  Tylor,  1907;  Ratzel,  History 
of  Mankind,  1896-98;  Kovalevsky,  Tableau  des  origines  et  de  I'Evo- 
lution  de  la  Familie  et  de  la  PropriU^,  1890;  Giddings,  Principles  of 
Sociology,  1896,  pp.  157-168,  256-298;  Thomas,  Relation  of  Sex  to 
Primitive  Social  Control  in  Sex  and  Society,  1907;  Webster,  Primitive 
Secret  Societies,  1908;  Simmel,  The  Sociology  of  Secrecy  and  of 
Secret  Societies,  American  Journal  Sociology,  Vol.  XL,  1906,  pp. 
441-498.    See  also  the  references  at  close  of  Chapters  VL,  VII. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  RATIONALIZING  AND  SOCIALIZING  AGEN- 
CIES IN  EARLY  SOCIETY 

§  1.    THREE    LEVELS    OF    CONDUCT 

A  YOUNG  man  may  enter  a  profession  thinking  of  it 
only  as  a  means  of  support.  But  the  work  requires  fore- 
sight and  persistence;  it  broadens  his  interests;  it  devel- 
ops his  character.  Like  Saul,  he  has  gone  to  search  for 
asses,  he  has  found  a  kingdom.  Or  he  may  marry  on  the 
basis  of  emotional  attraction.  But  the  sympathies  evoked, 
the  cooperation  made  necessary,  are  refining  and  enlarg- 
ing his  life.  Both  these  cases  illustrate  agencies  which 
are  moral  in  their  results,  although  not  carried  on  from 
a  consciously  moral  purpose. 

Suppose,  however,  that  children  are  born  into  the  fam- 
ily. Then  the  parent  consciously  sets  about  controlling 
their  conduct,  and  in  exercising  authority  almost  inevita- 
bly feels  the  need  of  some  standard  other  than  caprice 
or  selfishness.  Suppose  that  in  business  the  partners  differ 
as  to  their  shares  in  the  profits,  then  the  question  of 
fairness  is  raised;  and  if  one  partner  defaults,  the  ques- 
tion of  guilt.  Or  suppose  the  business  encounters  a  law 
which  forbids  certain  operations,  the  problem  of  justice 
will  come  to  consciousness.  Such  situations  as  these  are 
evidently  in  the  moral  sphere  in  a  sense  in  which  those 
of  the  preceding  paragraph  are  not.  They  demand 
some  kind  of  judgment,  some  approval  or  disapproval. 
As  Aristotle  says,  it  is  not  enough  to  do  the  acts;  it  is 
necessary  to  do  them  in  a  certain  way, — not  merely  to 
get   the   result,  but   to   intend   it.      The   result   must  be 

37 


38  AGENCIES  IN  EARLY  SOCIETY 

thought  of  as  in  some  sense  good  or  right ;  its  opposite  as 
in  some  sense  bad  or  wrong. 

But  notice  that  the  judgments  in  these  cases  may  fol- 
low either  of  two  methods:  (1)  The  parent  or  business 
man  may  teach  his  child,  or  practice  in  business,  what 
tradition  or  the  accepted  standard  calls  for;  or  (2)  he 
may  consider  and  examine  the  principles  and  motives 
involved.  Action  by  the  first  method  is  undoubtedly  moral, 
in  one  sense.  It  is  judging  according  to  a  standard,  though 
it  takes  the  standard  for  granted.  Action  by  the  second 
method  is  moral  in  a  more  complete  sense.  It  examines 
the  standard  as  well.  The  one  is  the  method  of  "cus- 
tomary" moralit}'^,  the  other  that  of  reflective  morality, 
or  of  conscience  in  the  proper  sense. 

The  Three  Levels  and  Their  Motives. — We  may  dis- 
tinguish then  three  levels  of  conduct. 

1.  Conduct  arising  from  instincts  and  fundamental 
needs.  To  satisfy  these  needs  certain  conduct  is  neces- 
sary, and  this  in  itself  involves  ways  of  acting  which  are 
more  or  less  rational  and  social.  The  conduct  may  be  in 
accordance  with  moral  laws,  though  not  directed  by  moral 
judgments.     We  consider  this  level  in  the  present  chapter. 

2.  Conduct  regulated  by  standards  of  society ,  for  some 
more  or  less  conscious  end  involving  the  social  welfare. 
The  level  of  custom,  which  is  treated  in  Chapter  IV. 

3.  Conduct  regulated  by  a  standard  which  is  both 
social  and  rational,  which  is  examined  and  criticized.  The 
level  of  conscience.  Progress  toward  this  level  is  outlined 
in  Chapters  V.  to  VIII. 

The  motives  in  these  levels  will  show  a  similar  scale. 
In  (1)  the  motives  are  external  to  the  end  gained.  The 
man  seeks  food,  or  position,  or  glory,  or  sex  gratification ; 
he  is  forced  to  practice  sobriety,  industry,  courage,  gen- 
tleness. In  (2)  the  motive  is  to  seek  some  good  which  is 
social,  but  the  man  acts  for  the  group  mainly  because  he  is 
of  the  group,  and  does  not  conceive  his  own  good  as  dis- 


THREE  LEVELS  OF  CONDUCT  39 

tinct  from  that  of  the  group.  His  acts  are  only  in  part 
guided  by  intelHgence;  they  are  in  part  due  to  habit 
or  accident.  (3)  In  full  morality  a  man  not  only  intends 
his  acts  definitely,  he  also  values  them  as  what  he  can 
do  "with  all  his  heart."  He  does  them  because  they  are 
right  and  good.  He  chooses  them  freely  and  intelligently. 
Our  study  of  moral  development  will  consider  successively 
these  three  levels.  They  all  exist  in  present  morality. 
Only  the  first  two  are  found  in  savage  life.  If  (1) 
existed  alone  it  was  before  the  group  life,  which  is  our 
starting-point  in  this  study.  We  return  now  to  our  con- 
sideration of  group  life,  and  note  the  actual  forces  which 
are  at  work.  We  wish  to  discover  the  process  by  which 
the  first  and  second  levels  prepare  the  way  for  the 
third. 

The  Necessary  Activities  of  Existence  Start  the 
Process. — The  prime  necessities,  if  the  individual  is  to 
survive,  are  for  food,  shelter,  defense  against  enemies. 
If  the  stock  is  to  survive,  there  must  be  also  reproduc- 
tion and  parental  care.  Further,  it  is  an  advantage  in 
the  struggle  if  the  individual  can  master  and  acquire, 
can  outstrip  rivals,  and  can  join  forces  with  others  of 
his  kind  for  common  ends.  To  satisfy  these  needs  we  find 
men  in  group  life  engaged  in  work,  in  war  or  blood  feuds, 
in  games  and  festal  activities,  in  parental  care.  They 
are  getting  food  and  booty,  making  tools  and  houses, 
conquering  or  enslaving  their  enemies,  protecting  the 
young,  winning  trophies,  and  finding  emotional  excite- 
ment in  contests,  dances,  and  songs.  These  all  help  in 
the  struggle  for  existence.  But  the  workmen,  warriors, 
singers,  parents,  are  getting  more.  They  are  forming 
certain  elements  of  character  which,  if  not  necessarily 
moral  in  themselves,  are  yet  indispensable  requisites  for 
full  morality.  We  may  say  therefore  that  nature  is 
doing  this  part  of  moral  evolution,  without  the  aid 
of  conscious  intention  on  man's  part.     To  use  the  terms 


40  AGENCIES  IN  EARLY  SOCIETY 

of  Chaptei  I.,  we  may  call  this  a  rationalizing  and  so- 
cializing process,  though  not  a  conscious  moral  process. 
We  notice  some  of  the  more  important  agencies  that  are 
operative. 

§  2.    RATIONALIZING    AGENCIES 

I.  Work. — The  earlier  forms  of  occupation,  hunting 
and  fishing,  call  for  active  intelligence,  although  the  ac- 
tivity is  sustained  to  a  great  degree  by  the  immediate 
interest  or  thrill  of  excitement,  which  makes  them  a  recrea- 
tion to  the  civilized  man.  Quickness  of  perception,  alert- 
ness of  mind  and  body,  and  in  some  cases,  physical  daring, 
are  the  qualities  most  needed.  But  in  the  pastoral  life, 
and  still  more  with  the  beginning  of  agriculture  and  com- 
merce, the  man  who  succeeds  must  have  foresight  and 
continuity  of  purpose.  He  must  control  impulse  by  rea- 
son. He  must  organize  those  habits  which  are  the  basis 
of  character,  instead  of  yielding  to  the  attractions  of 
various  pleasures  which  might  lead  him  from  the  main 
purpose.  To  a  certain  extent  the  primitive  communism 
acted  to  prevent  the  individual  from  feeling  the  full 
force  of  improvidence.  Even  if  he  does  not  secure  a  supply 
of  game,  or  have  a  large  enough  flock  to  provide  for  the 
necessities  of  himself  and  his  immediate  family,  the  group 
does  not  necessarily  permit  him  to  starve.  The  law 
"Whatsoever  a  man  soweth  that  shall  he  also  reap"  does 
not  press  upon  him  with  such  relentless  grasp  as  in  the 
modern  individualistic  struggle  for  existence.  Neverthe- 
less it  would  be  an  entirely  mistaken  view  of  primitive 
group  life  to  suppose  that  it  is  entirely  a  lazy  man's 
paradise,  or  happy-go-lucky  existence.  The  varying  eco- 
nomic conditions  are  important  here  as  measuring  the 
amount  of  forethought  and  care  required.  It  is  the 
shepherd  Jacob  whose  craft  outwits  Esau  the  hunter ;  and 
while  the  sympathy  of  the  modern  may  be  with  Esau,  he 


RATIONALIZING  AGENCIES  41 

must  remember  that  forethought  like  other  valuable 
weapons  may  be  used  in  a  social  as  well  as  a  selfish  fashion. 
The  early  Greek  appreciation  of  craft  is  probably  ex- 
pressed in  their  deification  of  theft  and  deception  in 
Hermes.  Agriculture  and  commerce,  still  more  than  pre- 
ceding types  of  occupation,  demand  thoughtfulness  and 
the  long  look  ahead. 

The  differentiation  of  labor  has  been  a  powerful  influ- 
ence for  increasing  the  range  of  mental  life  and  stimu- 
lating its  development.  If  all  do  the  same  thing,  all  are 
much  alike,  and  inevitably  remain  on  a  low  level.  But 
when  the  needs  of  men  induce  diff^erent  kinds  of  work, 
slumbering  capacities  are  aroused  and  new  ones  are  called 
into  being.  The  most  deeply-rooted  differentiation  of 
labor  is  that  between  the  sexes.  The  woman  performs 
the  work  within  or  near  the  dwelling,  the  man  hunts  or 
tends  the  flocks  or  ranges  abroad.  This  probably  tends 
to  accentuate  further  certain  organic  differences.  Among 
the  men,  group  life  in  its  simplest  phases  has  little  differ- 
entiation except  "for  counsel"  or  "for  war."  But  with 
metal  working  and  agricultural  life  the  field  widens.  At 
first  the  specializing  is  largely  by  families  rather  than 
by  individual  choice.  Castes  of  workmen  may  take  the 
place  of  mere  kinship  ties.  Later  on  the  rules  of  caste 
in  turn  become  a  hindrance  to  individuality  and  must  be 
broken  down  if  the  individual  is  to  emerge  to  full  self- 
direction. 

2.  The  Arts  and  Crafts. — Aside  from  their  influence  as 
work,  the  arts  and  crafts  have  a  distinctly  elevating  and 
refining  effect.  The  textiles,  pottery,  and  skilfully  made 
tools  and  weapons;  the  huts  or  houses  when  artistically 
constructed;  the  so-called  free  or  fine  arts  of  dance  and 
music,  of  color  and  design — all  have  this  common  element: 
they  give  some  visible  or  audible  embodiment  for  order  or 
form.  The  artist  or  craftsman  must  make  definite  his 
idea  in  order  to  work  it  out  in  cloth  or  clay,  in  wood 


42  AGENCIES  IN  EARLY  SOCIETY 

or  stone,  in  dance  or  song.  When  thus  embodied,  it  is 
preserved,  at  least  for  a  time.  It  is  part  of  the  daily 
environment  of  the  society.  Those  who  see  or  hear  are 
having  constantly  suggested  to  them  ideas  and  values 
which  bring  more  meaning  into  life  and  elevate  its  inter- 
ests. Moreover,  the  order,  the  rational  plan  or  arrange- 
ment which  is  embodied  in  all  well-wrought  objects,  as  well 
as  in  the  fine  arts  in  the  narrow  sense,  deserves  emphasis. 
Plato  and  Schiller  have  seen  in  this  a  valuable  preparation 
for  morality.  To  govern  action  by  law  is  moral,  but 
it  is  too  much  to  expect  this  of  the  savage  and  the  child 
as  a  conscious  principle  where  the  law  opposes  impulse. 
In  art  as  in  play  there  is  direct  interest  and  pleasure  in 
the  act,  but  in  art  there  is  also  order  or  law.  In  con- 
forming to  this  order  the  savage,  or  the  child,  is  in 
training  for  the  more  conscious  control  where  the  law, 
instead  of  favoring,  may  thwart  or  oppose  impulse  and 
desire. 

3.  War. — War  and  the  contests  in  games  were  serving 
to  work  out  characteristics  which  received  also  a  definite  so- 
cial reenf orcement :  namely,  courage  and  efficiency,  a  sense 
of  power,  a  consciousness  of  achievement.  All  these,  like 
craft,  may  be  used  for  unmoral  or  even  immoral  ends, 
but  they  are  also  highly  important  as  factors  in  an 
effective  moral  personality. 

§  3.    SOCIALIZING    AGENCIES 

Cooperation  and  Mutual  Aid.^ — Aside  from  their  ef- 
fects in  promoting  intelligence,  courage,  and  ideality  of 
life,  industry,  art,  and  war  have  a  common  factor  by 
which  they  all  contribute  powerfully  to  the  social  basis  of 
morality.  They  all  require  cooperation.  They  are  social- 
izing as  well  as  rationalizing  agencies.     Mutual  aid  is  the 

*  P.  Kropotkin,  Mutual  Aid  a  Factor  in  Evolution;  Bagehot, 
Phifsics  and  Politico, 


SOCIALIZING  AGENCIES  43 

foundation  of  success.  "Woe  to  him  who  stands  alone,  e'en 
though  his  platter  be  never  so  full,"  runs  the  Slav  proverb. 
"He  that  belongs  to  no  community  is  like  unto  one  with- 
out a  hand."  Those  clans  or  groups  which  can  work 
together,  and  fight  together,  are  stronger  in  the  struggle 
against  nature  and  other  men.  The  common  activities 
of  art  have  value  in  making  this  community  of  action 
more  possible.  Cooperation  implies  a  common  end.  It 
means  that  each  is  interested  in  the  success  of  all.  This 
common  end  forms  then  a  controlling  rule  of  action,  and 
the  mutual  interest  means  sympathy.  Cooperation  is 
therefore  one  of  nature's  most  effective  agencies  for  a 
social  standard  and  a  social  feeling. 

I.  Cooperation  in  Industry. — In  industry,  while  there 
was  not  in  primitive  life  the  extensive  exchange  of  goods 
which  expresses  the  interdependence  of  modern  men,  there 
was  yet  much  concerted  work,  and  there  was  a  great 
degree  of  community  of  property.  In  groups  which  lived 
by  hunting  or  fishing,  for  instance,  although  certain  kinds 
of  game  might  be  pursued  by  the  individual  hunter,  the 
great  buffalo  and  deer  hunts  were  organized  by  the  tribe 
as  a  whole.  "A  hunting  bonfire  was  kindled  every  morn- 
ing at  daybreak  at  which  each  brave  must  appear  and 
report.  The  man  who  failed  to  do  this  before  the  party 
set  out  on  the  day's  hunt  was  harassed  by  ridicule."  ^ 
Salmon  fishery  was  also  conducted  as  a  joint  undertaking. 
Large  game  in  Africa  is  hunted  in  a  similar  fashion,  and 
the  product  of  the  chase  is  not  for  the  individual  but  for 
the  group.  In  the  pastoral  life  the  care  of  the  flocks 
and  herds  necessitates  at  least  some  sort  of  cooperation 
to  protect  these  flocks  from  the  attacks  of  wild  beasts  and 
from  the  more  dreaded  forays  of  human  robbers.  This 
requires  a  considerable  body  of  men,  and  the  journeying 
about  in  company,  the  sharing  together  of  watch  and 
ward,  the  common  interest  in  the  increase  of  flocks  and 
^  Eastman,  Indian  Boyhood. 


44  AGENCIES  IN  EARLY  SOCIETY 

herds,  continually  strengthens  the  bonds  between  the 
dwellers  in  tents. 

In  the  agricultural  stage  there  are  still  certain  forces 
at  work  which  promote  the  family  or  tribal  unity,  although 
here  we  begin  to  find  the  forces  which  make  for  indi- 
viduality at  work  until  they  result  in  individual  owner- 
ship and  individual  property.  Just  as  at  the  pastoral 
stage,  so  in  this,  the  cattle  and  the  growing  grain  must 
be  protected  from  attacks  by  man  and  beast.  It  is  only 
the  group  which  can  afford  such  protection,  and  accord- 
ingly we  find  the  Lowland  farmer  always  at  the  mercy  of 
the  Highland  clan. 

2.  Cooperation  in  War. — War  and  the  blood  feud, 
however  divisive  between  groups,  were  none  the  less  potent 
as  uniting  factors  within  the  several  groups.  The  mem- 
bers must  not  only  unite  or  be  wiped  out,  when  the  actual 
contest  was  on,  but  the  whole  scheme  of  mutual  help  in 
defense  or  in  avenging  injuries  and  insults  made  constant 
demand  upon  fellow  feeling,  and  sacrifice  for  the  good 
of  all.  To  gain  more  land  for  the  group,  to  acquire 
booty  for  the  group,  to  revenge  a  slight  done  to  some 
member  of  the  group,  were  constant  causes  for  war. 
Now  although  any  individual  might  be  the  gainer,  yet 
the  chances  were  that  he  would  himself  suffer  even 
though  the  group  should  win.  In  the  case  of  blood 
revenge  particularly,  most  of  the  group  w^ere  not  individ- 
ually interested.  Their  resentment  was  a  "sympathetic 
resentment,"  and  one  author  has  regarded  this  as  perhaps 
the  most  fundamental  of  the  sources  of  moral  emotion. 
It  was  because  the  tribal  blood  had  been  shed,  or  the 
women  of  the  clan  insulted,  that  the  group  as  a  whole 
reacted,  and  in  the  clash  of  battle  with  opposing  groups, 
was  closer  knit  together. 

"Ally  thyself  with  whom  thou  wilt  in  peace,  yet  know 
In  war  must  every  man  be  foe  who  is  not  kin.'* 

"Comrades  in  arms"  by  the  very  act  of  fighting  together 


SOCIALIZING  AGENCIES  45 

have  a  common  cause,  and  by  the  mutual  help  and  protec- 
tion given  and  received  become,  for  the  time  at  least,  one 
in  will  and  one  in  heart.  Ulysses  counsels  Agamemnon 
to  marshal  his  Greeks,  clan  by  clan  and  "brotherhood 
(phratry)  by  brotherhood,"  that  thus  brother  may  sup- 
port and  stimulate  brother  more  effectively ;  but  the  effect 
is  reciprocal,  and  it  is  indeed  very  probable  that  the 
unity  of  blood  which  is  believed  to  be  the  tie  binding 
together  the  members  of  the  group,  is  often  an  after- 
thought or  pious  fiction  designed  to  account  for  the 
unity  which  was  really  due  originally  to  the  stress  of  com- 
mon  struggle. 

3.  Art  as  Socializing  Agency — Cooperation  and  sym- 
pathy are  fostered  by  the  activities  of  art.  Some  of  these 
activities  are  spontaneous,  but  most  of  them  serve  some 
definite  social  end  and  are  frequently  organized  for  the 
definite  purpose  of  increasing  the  unity  and  sympathy  of 
the  group.  The  hunting  dance  or  the  war  dance  repre- 
sents, in  dramatic  form,  all  the  processes  of  the  hunt  or 
fight,  but  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  this  takes 
place  purely  for  dramatic  purposes.  The  dance  and  cele- 
bration after  the  chase  or  battle  may  give  to  the  whole 
tribe  the  opportunity  to  repeat  in  vivid  imagination  the 
triumphs  of  the  successful  hunter  or  warrior,  and  thus 
to  feel  the  thrill  of  victory  and  exult  in  common  over 
the  fallen  prey.  The  dance  which  takes  place  before 
the  event  is  designed  to  give  magical  power  to  the  hunter 
or  warrior.  Every  detail  is  performed  with  the  most  exact 
care  and  the  whole  tribe  is  thus  enabled  to  share  in  the 
work  of  preparation. 

In  the  act  of  song  the  same  uniting  force  is  present. 
To  sing  with  another  involves  a  Contagious  sympathy, 
in  perhaps  a  higher  degree  than  is  the  case  with  any 
other  art.  There  is,  in  the  first  place,  as  in  the  dance, 
a  unity  of  rhythm.  Rhythm  is  based  upon  cooperation 
and,   in   turn,   immensely   strengthens    the   possibility   of 


46  AGENCIES  IN  EARLY  SOCIETY 

cooperation.  In  the  bas-reliefs  upon  the  Egyptian  monu- 
ments representing  the  work  of  a  large  number  of  men 
who  are  moving  a  stone,  we  find  the  sculptured  figure  of  a 
man  who  is  beating  the  time  for  the  combined  efforts. 
Whether  all  rhythm  has  come  from  the  necessities  of  com- 
mon action  or  whether  it  has  a  physiological  basis  suffi- 
cient to  account  for  the  effect  which  rhythmic  action  pro- 
duces, in  any  case  when  a  company  of  people  begin  to 
work  or  dance  or  sing  in  rhythmic  movement,  their  effi- 
ciency and  their  pleasure  are  immensely  increased.  In 
addition  to  the  effect  of  rhythm  we  have  also  in  the 
case  of  song  the  effect  of  unity  of  pitch  and  of  melody, 
and  the  members  of  the  tribe  or  clan,  like  those  who  to-day 
sing  the  Marseillaise  or  chant  the  great  anthems  of  the 
church,  feel  in  the  strongest  degree  their  mutual  sym- 
pathy and  support.  For  this  reason,  the  Corroborees 
of  the  Australian,  the  sacred  festivals  of  Israel,  the 
Mysteries  and  public  festivals  of  the  Greeks,  in  short, 
among  all  peoples,  the  common  gatherings  of  the  tribe  for 
patriotic  or  religious  purposes,  have  been  attended  with 
dance  and  song.  In  many  cases  these  carry  the  members 
on  to  a  pitch  of  enthusiasm  where  they  are  ready  to  die 
for  the  common  cause. 

Melodic  and  rhythmic  sound  is  a  unifying  force  simply 
by  reason  of  form,  and  some  of  the  simpler  songs  seem 
to  have  little  else  to  commend  them,  but  at  very  early 
periods  there  is  not  merely  the  song  but  the  recital,  in 
more  or  less  rhythmic  or  literary  form,  of  the  history 
of  the  tribe  and  the  deeds  of  the  ancestors.  This  adds 
still  another  to  the  unifying  forces  of  the  dance  and  song. 
The  kindred  group,  as  they  hear  the  recital,  live  over 
together  the  history  of  the  group,  thrill  with  pride  at 
its  glories,  suffer  at  its  defeats ;  every  member  feels  that 
the  clan's  history  is  his  history  and  the  clan's  blood  his 
blood. 


FAMILY  LIFE  47 

§  4.    FAMILY   LIFE   AS   AN   IDEALIZING  AND    SOCIALIZING 
AGENCY 

Family  life,  so  far  as  it  is  merely  on  the  basis  of  in- 
stinct, takes  its  place  with  other  agencies  favored  by 
natural  selection  which  make  for  more  rational  and  social 
existence.  Various  instincts  are  more  or  less  at  work. 
The  sex  instinct  brings  the  man  and  the  woman  together. 
The  instinct  of  jealousy,  and  the  property  or  possessing 
instinct,  may  foster  exclusive  and  permanent  relations. 
The  parental  instinct  and  affection  bind  the  parents  to- 
gether and  thus  contribute  to  the  formation  of  the  social 
group  described  in  the  preceding  chapter.  Considering 
now  the  more  immediate  relations  of  husband  and  wife, 
parents  and  children,  rather  than  the  more  general  group 
relations,  we  call  attention  to  some  of  the  most  obvious 
aspects,  leaving  fuller  treatment  for  Part  III.  The 
ideahzing  influences  of  the  sex  instinct,  when  this  is  sub- 
ject to  the  general  influences  found  in  group  life,  is 
familiar.  Lyric  song  is  a  higher  form  of  its  manifesta- 
tion, but  even  a  mute  lover  may  be  stimulated  to  fine 
thoughts  or  brave  deeds.  Courtship  further  implies  an 
adaptation,  an  eff'ort  to  please,  which  is  a  strong  socializ- 
ing force.  If  "all  the  world  loves  a  lover,"  it  must  be 
because  the  lover  is  on  the  whole  a  hkable  role.  But 
other  forces  come  in.  Sex  love  is  intense,  but  so  far  as 
it  is  purely  instinctive  it  may  be  transitory.  Family  life 
needed  more  permanence  than  sex  attraction  could  pro- 
vide, and  before  the  powerful  sanctions  of  religion,  society, 
and  morals  were  sufficient  to  secure  permanence,  it  is 
probable  that  the  property  interest  of  the  husband  was 
largely  eff*ective  in  building  up  a  family  life,  requiring 
fidelity  to  the  married  relation  on  the  part  of  the  wife. 

But  the  most  far-reaching  of  the  forces  at  work  in 
the  family  has  been  the  parental  instinct  and  aff^ection 
with  its  consequences  upon  both  parents  and  children.     It 


48  AGENCIES  IN  EARLY  SOCIETY 

contributes  probably  more  than  any  other  naturally 
selected  agency  to  the  development  of  the  race  in  sym- 
pathy ;  it  shares  with  work  in  the  development  of  responsi- 
bility. It  is  indeed  one  of  the  great  incentives  to  industry 
throughout  the  higher  species  of  animals  as  well  as  in 
human  life.  The  value  of  parental  care  in  the  struggle 
for  existence  is  impressively  presented  by  Sutherland.^ 
Whereas  the  fishes  which  exercise  no  care  for  their  eggs 
preserve  their  species  only  by  producing  these  in  enormous 
numbers,  certain  species  which  care  for  them  maintain 
their  existence  by  producing  relatively  few.  Many  species 
produce  hundreds  of  thousands  or  even  millions  of  eggs. 
The  stickleback,  which  constructs  a  nest  and  guards  the 
young  for  a  few  days,  is  one  of  the  most  numerous  of 
fishes,  but  it  lays  only  from  twenty  to  ninety  eggs.  Birds 
and  mammals  with  increased  parental  care  produce  few 
young.  Not  only  is  parental  care  a  valuable  asset,  it  is 
an  absolute  necessity  for  the  production  of  the  higher 
species.  "In  the  fierce  competition  of  the  animated  forms 
of  earth,  the  loftier  type,  with  its  prolonged  nervous 
growth,  and  consequently  augmented  period  of  helpless- 
ness, can  never  arise  but  with  concomitant  increases  of 
parental  care."  Only  as  the  emotional  tendency  has  kept 
pace  with  the  nerve  development  has  the  human  race  been 
possible.  The  very  refinements  in  the  organism  which 
make  the  adult  a  victor  would  render  the  infant  a  victim 
if  it  were  without  an  abundance  of  loving  assistance.^ 

Whether,  as  has  been  supposed  by  some,  the  parental 
care  has  also  been  the  most  effective  force  in  keeping  the 
parents  together  through  a  lengthened  infancy,  or  whether 
other  factors  have  been  more  effective  in  this  particular, 
there  is  no  need  to  enlarge  upon  the  wide-reaching  moral 
values  of  parental  affection.  It  is  the  atmosphere  in  which 
the  child  begins  his  experience.     So  far  as  any  environ- 

*  The  Origin  and  Growth  of  the  Moral  Instinct,  Chs.  II.-V. 
""Ibid.,  p.  99. 


INTERPRETATION  OF  FIRST  LEVEL        49 

ment  can  affect  him,  this  is  a  constant  influence  for  sym- 
pathy and  kindness.  And  upon  the  parents  themselves 
its  transforming  power,  in  making  Hfe  serious,  in  over- 
coming selfishness,  in  projecting  thought  and  hope  on 
into  the  future,  cannot  be  measured.  The  moral  order 
and  progress  of  the  world  might  conceivably  spare  some 
of  the  agencies  which  man  has  devised ;  it  could  not  spare 
this. 

§  5.    MOKAL   INTERPRETATION    OF   THIS    FIRST    LEVEL 

On  this  first  level  we  are  evidently  dealing  with  forces 
and  conduct,  not  as  moral  in  purpose,  but  as  valuable 
in  result.  They  make  a  more  rational,  ideal,  and  social 
life,  and  this  is  the  necessary  basis  for  more  conscious 
control  and  valuation  of  conduct.  The  forces  are  bio- 
logical or  sociological  or  psychological.  They  are  not 
that  particular  kind  of  psychological  activities  which 
we  call  moral  in  the  proper  sense,  for  this  implies  not  only 
getting  a  good  result  but  aiming  at  it.  Some  of  the 
activities,  such  as  those  of  song  and  dance,  or  the  simpler 
acts  of  maternal  care,  have  a  large  instinctive  element. 
We  cannot  call  these  moral  in  so  far  as  they  are  purely 
instinctive.  Others  imply  a  large  amount  of  intelligence, 
as,  for  example,  the  operations  of  agriculture  and  the 
various  crafts.  These  have  purpose,  such  as  to  satisfy 
hunger,  or  to  forge  a  weapon  against  an  enemy.  But  the 
end  is  one  set  up  by  our  physical  or  instinctive  nature. 
So  long  as  this  is  merely  accepted  as  an  end,  and  not 
compared  with  others,  valued,  and  chosen,  it  is  not 
properly  moral. 

The  same  is  true  of  emotions.  There  are  certain  emo- 
tions on  the  instinctive  level.  Such  are  parental  love  in 
its  most  elemental  form,  sympathy  as  mere  contagious 
feeling,  anger,  or  resentment.  So  far  as  these  are  at  this 
lowest  level,  so  far  as  they  signify  simply  a  bodily  thrill, 


60  AGENCIES  IN  EARLY  SOCIETY 

they  have  no  claim  to  proper  moral  value.  They  are  tre- 
mendously important  as  the  source  from  which  strong 
motive  forces  of  benevolence,  intelligent  parental  care,  and 
an  ardent  energy  against  evil  may  draw  warmth  and  fire. 

Finally,  even  the  cooperation,  the  mutual  aid,  which 
men  give,  so  far  as  it  is  called  out  purely  by  common 
danger,  or  common  advantage,  is  not  in  the  moral  sphere, 
in  so  far  as  it  is  instinctive,  or  merely  give  and  take. 
To  be  genuinely  moral  there  must  be  some  thought  of 
the  danger  as  touching  others  and  therefore  requiring  our 
aid;  of  the  advantage  as  being  common  and  therefore 
enlisting  our  help. 

But  even  although  these  processes  are  not  consciously 
moral  they  are  nevertheless  fundamental.  The  activities 
necessary  for  existence,  and  the  emotions  so  intimately 
bound  up  with  them,  are  the  "cosmic  roots"  of  the  moral 
life.  And  often  in  the  higher  stages  of  culture,  when 
the  codes  and  instruction  of  morality  and  society  fail 
to  secure  right  conduct,  these  elementary  agencies  of 
work,  cooperation,  and  family  life  assert  their  power. 
Society  and  morality  take  up  the  direction  of  the  process 
and  carry  it  further,  but  they  must  always  rely  largely 
on  these  primary  activities  to  afford  the  basis  for  intelli- 
gent, rehable,  and  sympathetic  conduct. 


LITERATURE 

Bagehot,  Physics  and  Politics,  1890;  Biicher,  Industrial  Evolution, 
Eng.  tr.,  1901,  Arbeit  und  Rythmus,  3rd  ed.,  1901;  Schurtz,  Ur- 
geschichte  der  Kultur,  1900;  Fiske,  Cosmic  Philosophy,  Vol.  II.,  The 
Cosmic  Roots  of  Love  and  Self-sacrifice  in  Through  Nature  to  God, 
1899;  Dewey,  Interpretation  of  the  Savage  Mind,  Psychological  Re- 
view, Vol.  IX.,  1892,  pp.  317-230;  Durkheim,  De  la  Division  du 
Travail  Social,  1893;  P.  Kropotkin,  Mutual  Aid,  a  Factor  in  Evolu- 
tion, 1902;  Ross,  Foundations  of  Society,  1905,  Chap.  VII.;  Baldwin, 
Article  Socionomic  Forces  in  his  Dictionary  of  Philosophy  and  Psy- 
chology; Giddings,  Inductive  Sociology ^  1901;  Small,  General  Sociol- 
ogy, 1906;  Tarde,  Les  Lois  de  VImitation,  1895;  W.  I.  Thomas,  Sex 
and  Society,  1907,  pp.  55-172;  Gummere,  The  Beginnings  of  Poetry, 
1901;  Hirn,  The  Origin  of  Art,  1900. 


CHAPTER  IV 

GROUP  MORALITY— CUSTOMS  OR  MORES 

We  have  seen  how  the  natural  forces  of  instinct 
lead  to  activities  which  elevate  men  and  knit  them  to- 
gether. We  consider  next  the  means  which  society 
uses  for  these  purposes,  and  the  kind  of  conduct  which 
goes  along  with  the  early  forms  of  society's  agencies. 
The  organization  of  early  society  is  that  of  group  life, 
and  so  far  as  the  individual  is  merged  in  the  group  the 
type  of  conduct  may  be  called  "group  morality." 
Inasmuch  as  the  agencies  by  which  the  group  controls  its 
members  are  largely  those  of  custom,  the  morality  may  be 
called  also  "customary  morality."  Such  conduct  is  what 
we  called  at  the  opening  of  the  previous  chapter  "the  sec- 
ond level."  It  is  "ethical"  or  "moral"  in  the  sense  of  con- 
forming to  the  ethos  or  mores  of  the  group. 

§  1.    MEANING,  AUTHORITY,  AND  ORIGIN   OF   CUSTOMS 

Meaning  of  Customs  or  Mores. — Wherever  we  find 
groups  of  men  living  as  outlined  in  Chapter  II.,  we  find 
that  there  are  certain  ways  of  acting  which  are  common 
to  the  group — "folkways."  Some  of  these  may  be  due 
merely  to  the  fact  that  the  members  are  born  of  the  same 
stock,  just  as  all  ducks  swim.  But  a  large  part  of  human 
conduct,  in  savage  as  truly  as  in  civilized  life,  is  not  merely 
instinctive.  There  are  approved  ways  of  acting,  common 
to  a  group,  and  handed  down  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration.    Such  approved  ways  of  doing  and  acting  are 

6X 


52      GROUP  MORALITY— CUSTOMS  OR  MORES 

customs,  or  to  use  the  Latin  term,  which  Professor  Sumner 
thinks  brings  out  more  clearly  this  factor  of  approval, 
they  are  mores. ^  They  are  habits — but  they  are  more. 
They  imply  the  judgment  of  the  group  that  they  are  to 
be  followed.  The  welfare  of  the  group  is  regarded  as  in 
some  sense  imbedded  in  them.  If  any  one  acts  contrary 
to  them  he  is  made  to  feel  the  group's  disapproval.  The 
young  are  carefully  trained  to  observe  them.  At  times 
of  special  importance,  they  are  rehearsed  with  special 
solemnity. 

Authority  Behind  the  Mores. — The  old  men,  or  the 
priests,  or  medicine  men,  or  chiefs,  or  old  women,  may 
be  the  especial  guardians  of  these  customs.  They  may 
modify  details,  or  add  new  customs,  or  invent  explanations 
for  old  ones.  But  the  authority  back  of  them  is  the 
group  in  the  full  sense.  Not  the  group  composed  merely 
of  visible  and  living  members,  but  the  larger  group  which 
includes  the  dead,  and  the  kindred  totemic  or  ancestral 
gods.  Nor  is  it  the  group  considered  as  a  collection  of 
individual  persons.  It  is  rather  in  a  vague  way  the  whole 
mental  and  social  world.  The  fact  that  most  of  the  cus- 
toms have  no  known  date  or  origin  makes  them  seem  a  part 
of  the  nature  of  things.  Indeed  there  is  more  than  a 
mere  analogy  between  the  primitive  regard  for  custom 
and  that  respect  for  "Nature"  which  from  the  Stoics  to 
Spencer  has  sought  a  moral  standard  in  living  "according 
to  nature."  And  there  is  this  much  in  favor  of  taking  the 
world  of  custom  as  the  standard:  the  beings  of  this  sys- 
tem are  like  the  person  who  is  expected  to  behave  like  them ; 
its  rules  are  the  ways  in  which  his  own  kin  have  lived  and 
prospered,  and  not  primarily  the  laws  of  cosmic  forces, 
plants,  and  animals. 

Origin  of  Customs;  Luck. — The  origin  of  customs  is 
to  be  sought  in  several  concurrent  factors.  There  are  in 
the  first  place  the  activities  induced  by  the  great  primi- 
*  W.  G.  Sumner,  Folkways. 


MEANING  AND  ORIGIN  OF  CUSTOMS        53 

tive  needs  and  instincts.  Some  ways  of  acting  succeed; 
some  fail.  Man  not  only  establishes  habits  of  acting  in 
the  successful  ways ;  he  remembers  his  failures.  He  hands 
successful  ways  down  with  his  approval ;  he  condemns  those 
that  fail. 

This  attitude  is  reenf orced  by  the  views  about  good  luck 
and  bad  luck.  Primitive  man — and  civilized  man — is  not 
ruled  by  a  purely  rational  theory  of  success  and  failure. 
"One  might  use  the  best  known  means  with  the  greatest 
care,  yet  fail  of  the  result.  On  the  other  hand,  one  might 
get  a  great  result  with  no  effort  at  all.  One  might 
also  incur  a  calamity  without  any  fault  of  his  own."  ^ 
"Grimm  gives  more  than  a  thousand  ancient  German 
apothegms,  dicta,  and  proverbs  about  'luck.'  "  ^  Both 
good  and  bad  fortune  are  attributed  to  the  unseen  powers, 
hence  a  case  of  bad  luck  is  not  thought  of  as  a  mere 
chance.  If  the  ship  that  sailed  Friday  meets  a  storm, 
or  one  of  thirteen  falls  sick,  the  inference  is  that  this  is 
sure  to  happen  again.  And  at  this  point  the  conception 
of  the  group  welfare  as  bound  up  with  the  acts  of  every 
member,  comes  in  to  make  individual  conformity  a  matter 
for  group  concern — to  make  conduct  a  matter  of  mores  and 
not  merely  a  private  affair.  One  most  important,  if  not 
the  most  important,  object  of  early  legislation  was  the 
enforcement  of  lucky  rites  to  prevent  the  individual  from 
doing  what  might  bring  ill  luck  on  all  the  tribe.  For 
the  conception  always  was  that  the  ill  luck  does  not 
attach  itself  simply  to  the  doer,  but  may  fall  upon  any 
member  of  the  group.  "The  act  of  one  member  is  con- 
ceived to  make  all  the  tribe  impious,  to  offend  its  particu- 
lar god,  to  expose  all  the  tribe  to  penalties  from  heaven. 
When  the  street  statues  of  Hermes  were  mutilated,  all  the 
Athenians  were  frightened  and  furious ;  they  thought  they 
should  all  be  ruined  because  some  one  had  mutilated  a 

^  Sumner,  Folkways,  p.  6. 
» Ibid.,  p.  11. 


54      GROUP  MORALITY—CUSTOMS  OR  MORES 

god's  image  and  so  offended  him.''  ^  "The  children  were 
reproved  for  cutting  and  burning  embers,  on  the  ground 
that  this  might  be  the  cause  for  the  accidental  cutting 
of  some  member  of  the  family."  ^  In  the  third  place,  be- 
sides these  sources  of  custom,  in  the  usefulness  or  lucky 
character  of  certain  acts,  there  is  also  the  more  immediate 
reaction  of  individuals  or  groups  to  certain  ways  of  act- 
ing according  "as  things  jump  with  the  feelings  or  dis- 
please them."  ^  An  act  of  daring  is  applauded,  whether 
useful  or  not.  The  individual  judgment  is  caught  up,  re- 
peated, and  plays  its  part  in  the  formation  of  group  opin- 
ion. "Individual  impulse  and  social  tradition  are  thus 
the  two  poles  between  which  we  move."  Or  there  may  even 
be  a  more  conscious  discussion  analogous  to  the  action  of 
legislatures  or  philosophic  discussion.  The  old  men  among 
the  Australians  deliberate  carefully  as  to  each  step  of  the 
initiation  ceremonies.  They  make  customs  to  be  handed 
down. 

§  S.    MEANS    OF    ENFOECING    CUSTOMS 

The  most  general  means  for  enforcing  customs  are  pub- 
lic opinion,  taboos,  ritual  or  ceremony,  and  physical  force. 

Public  Approval  uses  both  language  and  form  to  ex- 
press its  judgments.  Its  praise  is  likely  to  be  emphasized 
by  some  form  of  art.  The  songs  that  greet  the  return- 
ing victor,  the  decorations,  costumes,  and  tattoos  for  those 
who  are  honored,  serve  to  voice  the  general  sentiment.  On 
the  other  hand  ridicule  or  contempt  is  a  sufficient  penalty 
to  enforce  compliance  with  many  customs  that  may  be 
personally  irksome.  It  is  very  largely  the  ridicule  of  the 
men's  house  which  enforces  certain  customs  among  the  men 
of  peoples  which  have  that  institution.  It  is  the  ridicule  or 
scorn  of  both  men  and  women  which  forbids  the  Indian  to 

*  Bagehot,  Physics  and  Politics,  p.  103. 
■  Eastman,  Indian  Boyhood,  p.  31. 

»  Hobhouse,  Morals  in  Evolution,  Part  I.,  p.  16.  Hume  pointed  out 
this  twofold  basis  of  approval. 


MEANS  OF  ENFORCING  CUSTOMS  55 

marry  before  he  has  proved  his  manhood  by  some  notable 
deed  of  prowess  in  war  or  chase. 

Taboos. — Taboos  are  perhaps  not  so  much  a  means  for 
enforcing  custom,  as  they  are  themselves  customs  invested 
with  peculiar  and  awful  sanction.  They  prohibit  or  ban 
any  contact  with  certain  persons  or  objects  under  penalty 
of  danger  from  unseen  beings.  Any  events  supposed 
to  indicate  the  activity  of  spirits,  such  as  birth  and  death, 
are  likely  to  be  sanctified  by  taboos.  The  danger  is  con- 
tagious ;  if  a  Polynesian  chief  is  taboo,  the  ordinary  man 
fears  even  to  touch  his  footprints.  But  the  taboos  are 
not  all  based  on  mere  dread  of  the  unseen. 

"They  include  such  acts  as  have  been  found  by  experience 
to  produce  unwelcome  results. — The  primitive  taboos  corre- 
spond to  the  fact  that  the  life  of  man  is  environed  by  perils: 
His  food  quest  must  be  limited  by  shunning  poisonous  plants. 
His  appetite  must  be  restrained  from  excess.  His  physical 
strength  and  health  must  be  guarded  from  dangers.  The 
taboos  carry  on  the  accumulated  wisdom  of  generations  which 
has  almost  alwaj^s  been  purchased  by  pain,  loss,  disease,  and 
death.  Other  taboos  contain  inhibitions  of  what  will  be  in- 
jurious to  the  group.  The  laws  about  the  sexes,  about  prop- 
erty, about  war,  and  about  ghosts,  have  this  character.  They 
always  include  some  social  philosophy."  (Sumner,  Folkways, 
pp.  33  f.) 

They  may  be  used  with  conscious  purpose.  In  order 
to  have  a  supply  of  cocoanuts  for  a  religious  festival 
the  head  men  may  place  a  taboo  upon  the  young  cocoa- 
nuts  to  prevent  them  from  being  consumed  before  they 
are  fully  ripe.  The  conception  works  in  certain  respects 
to  supply  the  purpose  which  is  later  subserved  by  ideas 
of  property.  But  it  serves  also  as  a  powerful  agency  to 
maintain  respect  for  the  authority  of  the  group. 

Ritual.^ — As  taboo  is  the  great  negative  guardian  of 
customs,  ritual  is  the  great  positive  agent.  It  works  by 
forming  habits,  and  operates  through  associations  formed 
by  actually  doing  certain  acts^  usually  under  conditions 


56       GROUP  MORALITY— CUSTOMS  OR  MORES 

which  appeal  to  the  emotions.  The  charm  of  music  and  of 
orderly  movement,  the  impressiveness  of  ordered  masses 
in  processions,  the  awe  of  mystery,  all  contribute  to  stamp 
in  the  meaning  and  value.  Praise  or  blame  encourages 
or  inhibits ;  ritual  secures  the  actual  doing  and  at  the 
same  time  gives  a  value  to  the  doing.  It  is  employed  by 
civilized  peoples  more  in  the  case  of  military  or  athletic 
drill,  or  in  training  children  to  observe  forms  of  etiquette, 
so  that  these  may  become  "second  nature."  Certain  reli- 
gious bodies  also  use  its  agency.  But  in  primitive  life 
it  is  widely  and  effectively  used  to  insure  for  educational, 
political,  and  domestic  customs  obedience  to  the  group 
standards,  which  among  us  it  secures  to  the  codes  of  the 
army,  or  to  those  of  social  etiquette.  Examples  of  its 
elaborate  and  impressive  use  will  be  given  below  under 
educational  ceremonies. 

Physical  Force. —  When  neither  group  opinion,  nor 
taboo,  nor  ritual  secures  conformity,  there  is  always  in 
the  background  physical  force.  The  chiefs  are  generally 
men  of  strength  whose  word  may  not  be  lightly  disre- 
garded. Sometimes,  as  among  the  Sioux,  the  older  braves 
constitute  a  sort  of  police.  Between  different  clans  the 
blood  feud  is  the  accepted  method  of  enforcing  custom, 
unless  a  substitute,  the  wergeld,  is  provided.  For  homi- 
cide within  a  clan  the  remaining  members  may  drive  the 
slayer  out,  and  whoever  meets  such  a  Cain  may  slay  him. 
If  a  man  murdered  his  chief  of  kindred  among  the  ancient 
Welsh  he  was  banished  and  "it  was  required  of  every 
one  of  every  sex  and  age  within  hearing  of  the  horn 
to  follow  that  exile  and  to  keep  up  the  barking  of  dogs, 
to  the  time  of  his  putting  to  sea,  until  he  shall  have  passed 
three  score  hours  out  of  sight."  ^  It  should  be  borne  in 
mind,  however,  that  physical  pains,  either  actual  or 
dreaded,  would  go  but  a  little  way  toward  maintaining 
authority  in  any  such  group  as  we  have  regarded  as  typi- 
*  Seebohm,  The  Tribal  System  of  Wales,  p.  59. 


EDUCATIONAL  CUSTOMS  67 

cal.  Absolutism,  with  all  its  cruel  methods  of  enforcing 
terror,  needs  a  more  highly  organized  system.  In  primi- 
tive groups  the  great  majority  support  the  authority  of 
the  group  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  uphold  it  as  a  sacred 
duty  when  it  is  challenged.  Physical  coercion  is  not  the 
rule  but  the  exception. 


§  3,  CONDITIONS    WHICH    BRING    OUT    THE    IMPORTANCE    OF 

GROUP  STANDARDS  AND  RENDER  GROUP   CONTROL 

CONSCIOUS 

Although  customs  or  mores  have  in  them  an  element  of 
social  approval  which  makes  them  vehicles  of  moral  judg- 
ment, they  tend  in  many  cases  to  sink  to  the  level  of  mere 
habits.  The  reason — such  as  it  was — for  their  original 
force — is  forgotten.  They  become,  like  many  of  our 
forms  of  etiquette,  mere  conventions.  There  are,  however, 
certain  conditions  which  center  attention  upon  their  im- 
portance and  lift  them  to  the  level  of  conscious  agencies. 
These  conditions  may  be  grouped  under  three  heads.  (1) 
The  education  of  the  younger,  immature  members  of  the 
group  and  their  preparation  for  full  membership.  (2) 
The  constraint  and  restraint  of  refractory  members  and 
the  adjustment  of  conflicting  interests.  (3)  Occasions 
which  involve  some  notable  danger  or  crisis  and  therefore 
call  for  the  greatest  attention  to  secure  the  favor  of  the 
gods  and  avert  disaster. 

I.  Educational  Customs. — ^Among  the  most  striking 
and  significant  of  these  are  the  initiation  ceremonies  which 
are  so  widely  observed  among  primitive  peoples.  They 
are  held  with  the  purpose  of  inducting  boys  into  the  privi- 
leges of  manhood  and  into  the  full  life  of  the  group.  They 
are  calculated  at  every  step  to  impress  upon  the  initiate 
his  own  ignorance  and  helplessness  in  contrast  with  the 
wisdom  and  power  of  the  group;  and  as  the  mystery  with 
which  they  are  conducted  imposes  reverence  for  the  elders 


58      GROUP  MORALITY— CUSTOMS  OR  MORES 

and  the  authorities  of  the  group,  so  the  recital  of  the 
traditions  and  performances  of  the  tribe,  the  long  series 
of  ritual  acts,  common  participation  in  the  mystic  dance 
and  song  and  decorations,  serve  to  reenforce  the  ties  that 
bind  the  tribe. 

Initiation  into  the  full  privileges  of  manhood  among  the 
tribes  of  Central  Australia,  for  instance,  includes  three 
sets  of  ceremonies  which  occupy  weeks,  and  even  months, 
for  their  completion.  The  first  set,  called  "throwing  up 
in  the  air,"  is  performed  for  the  boy  when  he  has  reached 
the  age  of  from  ten  to  twelve.  In  connection  with  being 
thrown  up  in  the  air  by  certain  prescribed  members  of 
his  tribe,  he  is  decorated  with  various  totem  emblems  and 
afterward  the  septum  of  his  nose  is  bored  for  the  insertion 
of  the  nose-bone.  At  a  period  some  three  or  four  years 
later  a  larger  and  more  formidable  series  of  ceremonies  is 
undertaken,  lasting  for  ten  days.  A  screen  of  bushes  is 
built,  behind  which  the  boy  is  kept  during  the  whole  period, 
unless  he  is  brought  out  on  the  ceremonial  ground  to  wit- 
ness some  performance.  During  this  whole  period  of 
ten  days,  he  is  forbidden  to  speak  except  in  answer  to 
questions.  He  is  decorated  with  various  totem  emblems, 
for  which  every  detail  is  prescribed  by  the  council  of  the 
tribal  fathers  and  tribal  elder  brothers.  He  is  charged  to 
obey  every  command  and  never  to  tell  any  woman  or  boy 
what  he  may  see.  The  sense  that  something  out  of  the 
ordinary  is  to  happen  to  him  helps  to  impress  him  strongly 
with  a  feeling  of  the  deep  importance  of  compliance  with 
the  tribal  rules,  and  further  still,  with  a  strong  sense  of 
the  superiority  of  the  older  men  who  know  and  are  familiar 
with  the  mysterious  rites  of  which  he  is  about  to  learn  the 
meaning  for  the  first  time.  At  intervals  he  watches  sym- 
bolic performances  of  men  decorated  like  various  totem 
animals,  who  represent  the  doings  of  the  animal  ancestors 
of  the  clan;  he  hears  mysterious  sounds  of  the  so-called 
bull-roarers,  which  are  supposed  by  the  women  and  un- 


EDUCATIONAL  CUSTOMS  69 

initiated  to  be  due  to  unseen  spirits;  and  the  whole  ends 
with  the  operation  which  symboHzes  his  induction  into 
young  manhood.  But  even  this  is  not  all ;  when  the  young 
man  has  reached  the  age  of  discretion,  when  it  is  felt  that 
he  can  fully  comprehend  the  traditions  of  the  tribe,  at  the 
age  of  from  twenty  to  twenty-five,  a  still  more  impressive 
series  of  ceremonies  is  conducted,  which  in  the  instance  re- 
ported lasted  from  September  to  January.  This  period 
was  filled  up  with  dances,  "corroborees,"  and  inspection 
of  the  churinga  or  sacred  emblems — stones  or  sticks  which 
were  supposed  to  be  the  dwellings  of  ancestral  spirits  and 
which  are  carefully  preserved  in  the  tribe,  guarded  from 
the  sight  of  women  and  boys,  but  known  individually 
to  the  elders  as  the  sacred  dwelling-place  of  father  or 
grandfather.  As  these  were  shown  and  passed  around, 
great  solemnity  was  manifest  and  the  relatives  sometimes 
wept  at  the  sight  of  the  sacred  object.  Ceremonies  imi- 
tating various  totem  animals,  frequently  of  the  most  elab- 
orate sort,  were  also  performed.  The  young  men  were 
told  the  traditions  of  the  past  history  of  the  tribe,  and 
at  the  close  of  the  recital  they  felt  added  reverence  for  the 
old  men  who  had  been  their  instructors,  a  sense  of  pride  in 
the  possession  of  this  mysterious  knowledge,  and  a  deeper 
unity  because  of  what  they  now  have  in  common.  One  is 
at  a  loss  whether  to  wonder  most  at  the  possibility  of  the 
whole  tribe  devoting  itself  for  three  months  to  these  elabo- 
rate functions  of  initiation,  or  at  the  marvelous  adapta- 
bility of  such  ceremonies  to  train  the  young  into  an 
attitude  of  docility  and  reverence.  A  tribe  that  can  en- 
force such  a  process  is  not  likely  to  be  wanting  in  one 
side,  at  least,  of  the  moral  consciousness,  namely,  rever- 
ence for  authority  and  regard  for  the  social  welfare.^ 

2.  Law  and  Justice. — The  occasions  for  some  control 
over  refractory  members  will  constantly  arise,  even  though 

*  The  account  is  based  on  Spencer  and  Gillen,  The  Native  Tribes 
of  Central  Australia,  chs.  vii.-ix. 


60      GROUP  MORALITY— CUSTOMS  OR  MORES 

the  conflict  between  group  and  individual  may  need  no 
physical  sanctions  to  enforce  the  authority  of  the  group 
over  its  members.  The  economic  motive  frequently  prompts 
an  individual  to  leave  the  tribe  or  the  joint  family. 
There  was  a  constant  tendency,  Eastman  states,  among 
his  people,  when  on  a  hunting  expedition  in  the  enemy's 
country,  to  break  up  into  smaller  parties  to  obtain  food 
more  easily  and  freely.  The  police  did  all  they  could 
to  keep  in  check  those  parties  who  were  intent  on  steal- 
ing away.  Another  illustration  of  the  same  tendency  is 
stated  by  Maine  with  reference  to  the  joint  families  of 
the  South  Slavonians: 

"The  adventurous  and  energetic  member  of  the  brother- 
hood is  always  rebelling  against  its  natural  communism.  He 
goes  abroad  and  makes  his  fortune^  and  as  strenuously  resists 
the  demands  of  his  relatives  to  bring  it  into  the  common  ac- 
count. Or  perhaps  he  thinks  that  his  share  of  the  common 
stock  would  be  more  profitably  employed  by  him  as  capital 
in  a  mercantile  venture.  In  either  case  he  becomes  a  dis- 
satisfied member  or  a  declared  enemy  of  the  brotherhood."  * 

Or  covetousness  might  lead  to  violation  of  the  ban, 
as  with  Achan.  Sex  impulse  may  lead  a  man  to  seek  for 
his  wife  a  woman  not  in  the  lawful  group.  Or,  as  one  of 
the  most  dangerous  offenses  possible,  a  member  of  the 
group  may  be  supposed  to  practice  witchcraft.  This  is 
to  use  invisible  powers  in  a  selfish  manner,  and  has  been 
feared  and  punished  by  almost  all  peoples. 

In  all  these  cases  it  is  of  course  no  abstract  theory  of 
crime  which  leads  the  community  to  react ;  it  is  self-preser- 
vation. The  tribe  must  be  kept  together  for  protection 
against  enemies.  Achan's  sin  is  felt  to  be  the  cause 
of  defeat.  The  violation  of  sex  taboos  may  ruin  the 
clan.  The  sorcerer  may  cause  disease,  or  inflict  torture 
and  death,  or  bring  a  pestilence  or  famine  upon  the  whole 
group.  None  the  less  all  such  cases  bring  to  conscious- 
*  Maine's  Early  Law  and  Custom,  p.  264. 


LEGAL  CUSTOMS  61 

ness  one  aspect  of  moral  authority,  the  social  control  over 
the  individual. 

And  it  is  a  social  control — not  an  exercise  of  brute  force 
or  a  mere  terrorizing  by  ghosts.  For  the  chief  or  judge 
generally  wins  his  authority  by  his  powerful  service  to 
his  tribesmen.  A  Gideon  or  Barak  or  Ehud  or  Jephthah 
judged  Israel  because  he  had  delivered  them.  "Three 
things,  if  possessed  by  a  man,  make  him  fit  to  be  a  chief 
of  kindred:  That  he  should  speak  on  behalf  of  his  kin 
and  be  listened  to,  that  he  should  fight  on  behalf  of  his 
kin  and  be  feared,  and  that  he  should  be  security  on  behalf 
of  his  kin  and  be  accepted."  ^  If,  as  is  often  the  case,  the 
king  or  judge  or  chief  regards  himself  as  acting  by  divine 
right,  the  authority  is  still  within  the  group.  It  is  the 
group  judging  itself. 

In  its  standards  this  primitive  court  is  naturally  on  the 
level  of  customary  morality,  of  which  it  is  an  agent. 
There  is  usually  neither  the  conception  of  a  general  princi- 
ple of  justice  (our  Common  Law),  nor  of  a  positive  law 
enacted  as  the  express  will  of  the  people.  At  first  the 
judge  or  ruler  may  not  act  by  any  fixed  law  except  that 
of  upholding  the  customs.  Each  decision  is  then  a  special 
case.  A  step  in  advance  is  found  when  the  heads  or 
elders  or  priests  of  the  tribe  decide  cases,  not  independently 
of  all  others,  but  in  accordance  with  certain  precedents  or 
customs.  A  legal  tradition  is  thus  established,  which, 
however  imperfect,  is  likely  to  be  more  impartial  than  the 
arbitrary  caprice  of  the  moment,  influenced  as  such  spe- 
cial decisions  are  likely  to  be  by  the  rank  or  power  of  the 
parties  concerned.^  A  law  of  precedents  or  tradition  is 
thus  the  normal  method  at  this  level.  The  progress  to- 
ward a  more  rational  standard  belongs  under  the  next 
chapter,  but  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  even  at  an 
early  age  the  myths  show  a  conception  of  a  divine  judge 

^  Welsh  Triads,  cited  by  Seebohm,  op.  cit.,  p.  72. 
*  Post,  Grundlagen  des  Rechts,  pp.  45  ff. 


62      GROUP  MORALITY— CUSTOMS  OR  MORES 

who  is  righteous,  and  a  divine  judgment  which  is  ideal. 
Rhadamanthus  is  an  embodiment  of  the  demand  for  justice 
Avhich  human  colHsions  and  decisions  awakened. 

The  conscious  authority  of  the  group  is  also  evoked  in 
the  case  of  feuds  or  disputes  between  its  members.  The  case 
of  the  blood  feud,  indeed,  might  well  be  treated  as  belong- 
ing under  war  and  international  law  rather  than  as  a  case 
of  private  conflict.  For  so  far  as  the  members  of  the 
victim's  clan  are  concerned,  it  is  a  case  of  war.  It  is 
a  patriotic  duty  of  every  kinsman  to  avenge  the  shed 
blood.  The  groups  concerned  were  smaller  than  modern 
nations  which  go  to  war  for  similar  reasons,  but  the  princi- 
ple is  the  same.  The  chief  difference  in  favor  of  modern 
international  wars  is  that  since  the  groups  are  larger 
they  do  not  fight  so  often  and  require  a  more  serious 
consideration  of  the  possibility  of  peaceable  adjustment. 
Orestes  and  Hamlet  feel  it  a  sacred  duty  to  avenge  their 
fathers'  murders. 

But  the  case  is  not  simply  that  of  clan  against  clan. 
For  the  smaller  group  of  kin,  who  are  bound  to  avenge, 
are  nearly  always  part  of  a  larger  group.  And  the  larger 
group  may  at  once  recognize  the  duty  of  vengeance  and 
also  the  need  of  keeping  it  within  bounds,  or  of  substi- 
tuting other  practices.  The  larger  group  may  see  in  the 
murder  a  pollution,  dangerous  to  all;^  the  blood  which 
"cries  from  the  ground"  ^  renders  the  ground  "unclean" 
and  the  curse  of  gods  or  the  spirits  of  the  dead  may 
work  woe  upon  the  whole  region.  But  an  unending  blood 
feud  is  likewise  an  evil.  And  if  the  injured  kin  can  be  ap- 
peased by  less  than  blood  in  return,  so  much  the  better. 
Hence  the  wergeld,  or  indemnity,  a  custom  which  persisted 
among  the  Irish  until  late,  and  seemed  to  the  English 
judges  a  scandalous  procedure. 

For  lesser  offenses  a  sort  of  regulated  duel  is  sometimes 

*  Deuteronomy  21:1-9;  Numbers  35:33,  34. 
'Genesis  4:10-12;  Job  16:18. 


LEGAL  CUSTOMS  63 

allowed.  For  example,  among  the  Australians  the  inci- 
dent is  related  of  the  treatment  of  a  man  who  had  eloped 
with  his  neighbor's  wife.  When  the  recreant  parties  re- 
turned the  old  men  considered  what  should  be  done,  and 
finally  arranged  the  following  penalty.  The  offender 
stood  and  called  out  to  the  injured  husband,  "I  stole  your 
woman ;  come  and  growl."  The  husband  then  proceeded  to 
throw  a  spear  at  him  from  a  distance,  and  afterwards  to 
attack  him  with  a  knife,  although  he  did  not  attempt  to 
wound  him  in  a  vital  part.  The  offender  was  allowed 
to  evade  injury,  though  not  to  resent  the  attack.  Finally 
the  old  men  said,  "Enough."  A  curious  form  of  private 
agencies  for  securing  justice  is  also  found  in  the  Japanese 
custom  of  hara-kiri,  according  to  which  an  injured  man 
kills  himself  before  the  door  of  his  offender,  in  order  that 
he  may  bring  public  odium  upon  the  man  who  has  injured 
him.  An  Indian  custom  of  Dharna  is  of  similar  signifi- 
cance, though  less  violent.  The  creditor  fasts  before  the 
door  of  the  debtor  until  he  either  is  paid,  or  dies  of  starva- 
tion. It  may  be  that  he  thinks  that  his  double  or  spirit 
will  haunt  the  cruel  debtor  who  has  thus  permitted  him 
to  starve  to  death,  but  it  also  has  the  effect  of  bringing 
public  opinion  to  bear. 

In  all  these  cases  of  kindred  feuds  there  is  little 
personal  responsibility,  and  likewise  little  distinction  be- 
tween the  accidental  and  intentional.  These  facts  are 
brought  out  in  the  opening  quotations  in  Chapter  II.  The 
important  thing  for  the  student  to  observe  is  that  like 
our  present  practices  in  international  affairs  they  show  a 
grade  of  morality,  a  limited  social  unity,  whether  it  is 
called  kinship  feeling  or  patriotism ;  complete  morality  is 
not  possible  so  long  as  there  is  no  complete  way  of  settling 
disputes  by  justice  instead  of  force.^ 

^  On  the  subject  of  early  justice  Westermarck,  The  Origin  and 
Development  of  Moral  Ideas,  ch.  vii.  ff.;  Hobhouse,  Morals  in 
Evolution,  Part  I.,  ch.  ii.;  Pollock  and  Maitland,  History  of  English 
Law. 


64       GROUP  MORALITY— CUSTOMS  OR  MORES 

3.  Occasions  Which  Involve  Some  Special  Danger  or 
Crisis. — Such  occasions  call  for  the  greatest  attention 
to  secure  success  or  avoid  disaster.  Under  this  head  we 
note  as  typical  (a)  the  occasions  of  birth,  marriage, 
death;  (b)  seed  time  and  harvest,  or  other  seasons  impor- 
tant for  the  maintenance  of  the  group;  (c)  war;  (d) 
hospitality. 

(a)  Birth  and  Death  Customs.  —  The  entrance  of  a 
new  life  into  the  world  and  the  disappearance  of  the  ani- 
mating breath  (spiritus,  anima,  psyche),  might  well  im- 
press man  with  the  mysteries  of  his  world.  Whether  the 
newborn  infant  is  regarded  as  a  reincarnation  of  an 
ancestral  spirit  as  with  the  Australians,  or  as  a  new  crea- 
tion from  the  spirit  world  as  with  the  Kafirs,  it  is  a  time 
of  danger.  The  mother  must  be  "purified,"  ^  the  child, 
and  in  some  cases  the  father,  must  be  carefully  guarded. 
The  elaborate  customs  show  the  group  judgment  of  the 
importance  of  the  occasion.  And  the  rites  for  the  dead 
are  yet  more  impressive.  For  as  a  rule  the  savage  has  no 
thought  of  an  entire  extinction  of  the  person.  The  dead 
lives  on  in  some  mode,  shadowy  and  vague,  perhaps,  but 
he  is  still  potent,  still  a  member  of  the  group,  present 
at  the  tomb  or  the  hearth.  The  preparation  of  the  body 
for  burial  or  other  disposition,  the  ceremonies  of  inter- 
ment or  of  the  pyre,  the  wailing,  and  mourning  costumes, 
the  provision  of  food  and  weapons,  or  of  the  favorite 
horse  or  wife,  to  be  with  the  dead  in  the  unseen  world,  the 
perpetual  homage  paid — all  these  are  eloquent.  The  event, 
as  often  as  it  occurs,  appeals  by  both  sympathy  and  awe 
to  the  common  feeling,  and  brings  to  consciousness  the 
unity  of  the  group  and  the  control  exercised  by  its 
judgments. 

The  regulations  for  marriage  are  scarcely  less  impor- 
tant ;  indeed,  they  are  often  seemingly  the  most  important 
of  the  customs.  The  phrases  "marriage  by  capture"  and 
^  Leviticus,  ch.  xii. 


BIRTH,  MARRIAGE,  DEATH  65 

"marriage  by  purchase,"  are  quite  misleading  if  they  give 
the  impression  that  in  early  culture  any  man  may  have 
any  woman.  It  is  an  almost  universal  part  of  the  clan 
system  that  the  man  must  marry  out  of  his  own  clan  or 
totem  (exogamy),  and  it  is  frequently  specified  exactly 
into  what  other  clan  he  must  marry.  Among  some  the 
regulations  are  minute  as  to  which  of  the  age  classes,  as 
well  as  to  which  of  the  kin  groups,  a  man  of  specific  group 
must  choose  from.  The  courtship  may  follow  different 
rules  from  ours,  and  the  relation  of  the  sexes  in  certain 
respects  may  seem  so  loose  as  to  shock  the  student,  but 
the  regulation  is  in  many  respects  stricter  than  with 
us,  and  punishment  of  its  violation  often  severer.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  of  the  meaning  of  the  control,  however  mis- 
taken some  of  its  features.  Whether  the  regulations  for 
exogamy,  which  provide  so  effectually  for  avoiding  incest, 
are  reinforced  by  an  instinctive  element  of  aversion  to  sex 
relations  with  intimates,  is  uncertain;  in  any  case,  they  are 
enforced  by  the  strongest  taboos.  Nor  does  primitive  soci- 
ety stop  with  the  negative  side.  The  actual  marriage  is 
invested  with  the  social  values  and  religious  sanctions  which 
raise  the  relation  to  a  higher  level.  Art,  in  garments  and 
ornament,  in  dance  and  epithalamium,  lends  ideal  values. 
The  sacred  meal  at  the  encircled  hearth  secures  the  partici- 
pation of  the  kindred  gods. 

(b)  Certain  Days  or  Seasons  Important  for  the  Indus- 
trial Life. — Seed  time  and  harvest,  the  winter  and  sum- 
mer solstices,  the  return  of  spring,  are  of  the  highest 
importance  to  agricultural  and  pastoral  peoples,  and  are 
widely  observed  with  solemn  rites.  Where  the  rain  is 
the  center  of  anxiety,  a  whole  ritual  may  arise  in  con- 
nection with  it,  as  among  the  Zuni  Indians.  Ceremonies 
lasting  days,  involving  the  preparation  of  special  sym- 
bols of  clouds  and  lightning,  and  the  participation  of 
numerous  secret  fraternities,  constrain  the  attention  of 
all.     Moreover,  this  constraint  of  need,  working  through 


66      GROUP  MORALITY— CUSTOMS  OR  MORES 

the  conception  of  what  the  gods  require,  enforces  some 
very  positive  moral  attitudes : 

"A  Zuni  must  speak  with  one  tongue  (sincerely)  in  order  to 
have  his  prayers  received  by  the  gods,  and  unless  his  prayers 
are  accepted  no  rains  will  come,  which  means  starvation.  He 
must  be  gentle,  and  he  must  speak  and  act  with  kindness  to  all, 
for  the  gods  care  not  for  those  whose  lips  speak  harshly.  He 
must  observe  continence  four  days  previous  to,  and  four  days 
following,  the  sending  of  breath  prayers  through  the  spiritual 
essence  of  plume  offerings,  and  thus  their  passions  are  brought 
under  control."  (Mrs.  M.  C.  Stevenson  in  23d  Report, 
Bureau  of  Ethnology.) 

Phases  of  the  moon  give  other  sacred  days.  Sabbaths 
which  originally  are  negative — the  forbidding  of  labor — 
may  become  later  the  bearers  of  positive  social  and  spiritual 
value.  In  any  case,  all  these  festivals  bring  the  group 
authority  to  consciousness,  and  by  their  ritual  promote 
the  intimate  group  sympathy  and  consciousness  of  a  com- 
mon end. 

(c)  War, — War  as  a  special  crisis  always  brings  out 
the  significance  and  importance  of  certain  customs.  The 
deliberations,  the  magic,  the  war  paint  which  precede,  the 
obedience  compelled  by  it  to  chiefs,  the  extraordinary 
powers  exercised  by  the  chief  or  heads  at  such  crises,  the 
sense  of  danger  which  strains  the  attention,  all  insure 
attention.  No  carelessness  is  permitted.  Defeat  is  inter- 
preted as  a  symbol  of  divine  anger  because  of  a  violated 
law  or  custom.  Victory  brings  all  together  to  celebrate 
the  glory  of  the  clan  and  to  mourn  in  common  the  warriors 
slain  in  the  common  cause.  Excellence  here  may  be  so 
conspicuous  in  its  service,  or  in  the  admiration  it  calls 
out,  as  to  become  a  general  term  for  what  the  group 
approves.  So  the  areti  of  the  Greeks  became  their  gen- 
eral term,  and  the  Latin  virtus,  if  not  so  clearly  military, 
was  yet  largely  military  in  its  early  coloring.  The  "spirit 
of  Jehovah,"  the  symbol  of  divine  approval  and  so  of 


HOSPITALITY  67 

group  approval,  was  believed  to  be  with  Samson  and  Jeph- 
thah  in  their  deeds  of  prowess  in  Israel's  behalf. 

(d)  Hospitality — To  the  modern  man  who  travels  with- 
out fear  and  receives  guests  as  a  matter  of  almost  daily 
practice,  it  may  seem  strained  to  include  hospitality  along 
with  unusual  or  critical  events.  But  the  ceremonies  ob- 
served and  the  importance  attached  to  its  rites,  show  that 
hospitality  was  a  matter  of  great  significance ;  its  customs 
were  among  the  most  sacred. 

"But  as  for  us/'  says  Ulysses  to  the  Cyclops,  "we  have 
lighted  here,  and  come  to  these  thy  knees,  if  perchance  they 
will  give  us  a  stranger's  gift,  or  make  any  present,  as  is  the 
due  of  strangers.  Nay,  lord,  have  regard  to  the  gods,  for  we 
are  thy  suppliants,  and  Zeus  is  the  avenger  of  suppliants  and 
sojourners,  Zeus,  the  god  of  the  stranger,  who  fareth  in  the 
company  of  reverend  strangers.'* 

The  duty  of  hospitality  is  one  of  the  most  widely 
recognized.  Westermarck  has  brought  together  a  series 
of  maxims  from  a  great  variety  of  races  which  show  this 
forcibly.^  Indians,  Kalmucks,  Greeks,  Romans,  Teutons, 
Arabs,  Africans,  Ainos,  and  other  peoples  are  drawn  upon 
and  tell  the  same  story.  The  stranger  is  to  be  respected 
sacredly.  His  person  must  be  guarded  from  insult  even 
if  the  honor  of  the  daughter  of  the  house  must  be  sacri- 
ficed.^ "Jehovah  preserveth  the  sojourners,"  and  they 
are  grouped  with  the  fatherless  and  the  widow  in  Israel's 
law.^  The  Romans  had  their  dii  hospitales  and  the  "duties 
toward  a  guest  were  even  more  stringent  than  those  toward 
a  relative" — primum  tutelce,  deinde  hospitiy  deinde  clienti, 
turn  cognatOy  postea  afflni^  "He  who  has  a  spark  of 
caution  in  him,"  says  Plato,  "will  do  his  best  to  pass, 
through  life  without  sinning  against  the  stranger."  And 
there  is  no  doubt  that  this  sanctity  of  the  guest's  person 

*  "The  Influence  of  Magic  on  Social  Relationships"  in  Sociological 
Papers,  II.,  1905.     Cf.  also  Morgan,  House-life. 

=*  Genesis  19:8;  Judges  19:23,  24. 
'Psalms  146:9;  Deuteronomy  24:14-22. 

*  Gellius,  in  Westermarck,  op.  cit.,  p.  155. 


68      GROUP  MORALITY— CUSTOMS  OR  MORES 

was  not  due  to  pure  kindness.  The  whole  conduct  of  group 
life  is  opposed  to  a  general  spirit  of  consideration  for 
those  outside.  The  word  *'guest"  is  akin  to  hostis,  from 
which  comes  "hostile."  The  stranger  or  the  guest  was 
looked  upon  rather  as  a  being  who  was  specially  potent. 
He  was  a  "Hve  wire."  He  might  be  a  medium  of  blessing, 
or  he  might  be  a  medium  of  hurt.  But  it  was  highly 
important  to  fail  in  no  duty  toward  him.  The  definite 
possibility  of  entertaining  angels  unawares  might  not  be 
always  present  to  consciousness,  but  there  seems  reason  to 
beheve  that  the  possibility  of  good  luck  or  bad  luck 
as  attending  on  a  visitor  was  generally  believed  in.  It  is 
also  plausible  that  the  importance  attached  to  sharing  a 
meal,  or  to  bodily  contact,  is  based  on  magical  ideas  of 
the  way  in  which  blessing  or  curse  may  be  communicated. 
To  cross  a  threshold  or  touch  a  tent-rope  or  to  eat  "salt," 
gives  a  sacred  claim.  In  the  right  of  asylum,  the  refugee 
takes  advantage  of  his  contact  with  the  god.  He  lays 
hold  of  the  altar  and  assumes  that  the  god  will  protect 
him.  The  whole  practice  of  hospitality  is  thus  the  converse 
of  the  custom  of  blood  revenge.  They  are  alike  sacred — 
or  rather  the  duty  of  hospitality  may  protect  even  the  man 
whom  the  host  is  bound  to  pursue.  But,  whereas  the  one 
makes  for  group  solidarity  by  acts  of  exclusive  and  hostile 
character,  the  other  tends  to  set  aside  temporarily  the 
division  between  the  "we-group"  and  the  "others-group." 
Under  the  sanction  of  religion  it  keeps  open  a  way  of  com- 
munication which  trade  and  other  social  interchange  will 
widen.  It  adds  to  family  and  the  men's  house  a  powerful 
agency  in  maintaining  at  least  the  possibility  of  humane- 
ness and  sympathy. 

§  4.    VAI.UES  AND   DEFECTS   OF   CUSTOMARY  MORALITY 

These  have  been  suggested,  in  the  main,  in  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  nature  of  custom  and  its  regulation  of  conduct. 


VALUES  AND  DEFECTS  OF  CUSTOM        69 

We  may,  however,  summarize  them  as  a  preparation  for 
the  next  stage  of  morahty. 

I.  The  Forming  of  Standards — There  is  a  standard, 
a  "good,"  a  "right,"  which  is  to  some  degree  rational 
and  to  some  degree  social.  We  have  seen  that  custom  rests 
in  part  on  rational  conceptions  of  welfare.  It  is  really 
nothing  against  this  that  a  large  element  of  luck  enters 
into  the  idea  of  welfare.  For  this  means  merely  that  the 
actual  conditions  of  welfare  are  not  understood.  The  next 
generation  may  be  able  to  point  out  as  equally  absurd  our 
present  ignorance  about  health  and  disease.  The  mem- 
bers of  the  group  embodied  in  custom  what  they  thought 
to  be  important ;  they  were  approving  some  acts  and  for- 
bidding or  condemning  others ;  they  were  using  the  elders, 
and  the  wisdom  of  all  the  past,  in  order  to  govern  life. 
So  far,  then,  they  were  acting  morally.  They  were  also, 
to  a  degree,  using  a  rational  and  social  standard  when  they 
made  custom  binding  on  all,  and  conceived  its  origin  as 
immemorial.  When  further  they  conceived  it  as  approved 
by  the  gods,  they  gave  it  all  the  value  they  knew  how  to 
put  into  it. 

The  standards  and  valuations  of  custom  are,  however, 
only  partly  rational.  Many  customs  are  irrational ;  some 
are  injurious.  But  in  them  all  the  habitual  is  a  large, 
if  not  the  largest,  factor.  And  this  is  often  strong  enough 
to  resist  any  attempt  at  rational  testing.  Dr.  Arthur 
Smith  tells  us  of  the  advantage  it  would  be  in  certain  parts 
of  China  to  build  a  door  on  the  south  side  of  the  house 
in  order  to  get  the  breeze  in  hot  weather.  The  simple 
and  sufficient  answer  to  such  a  suggestion  is,  "We  don't 
build  doors  on  the  south  side." 

An  additional  weakness  in  the  character  of  such  irra- 
tional, or  partly  rational  standards,  is  the  misplaced  en- 
ergy they  involve.  What  is  merely  trivial  is  made  as  im- 
portant and  impressive  as  what  has  real  significance. 
Tithing  mint,  anise,  and  cummin  is  quite  likely  to  involve 


70      GROUP  MORALITY— CUSTOMS  OR  MORES 

neglect  of  the  weightier  matters  of  the  law.  Moral  life 
requires  men  to  estimate  the  value  of  acts.  If  the  irrele- 
vant or  the  petty  is  made  important,  it  not  only  pre- 
vents a  high  level  of  value  for  the  really  important  act, 
it  loads  up  conduct  with  burdens  which  keep  it  back; 
it  introduces  elements  which  must  be  got  rid  of  later,  often 
with  heavy  loss  of  what  is  genuinely  valuable.  When  there 
are  so  many  ways  of  offending  the  gods  and  when  these 
turn  so  often  upon  mere  observance  of  routine  or  formula, 
it  may  require  much  subsequent  time  and  energy  to  make 
amends.     The  morals  get  an  expiatory  character. 

2.  The  Motives. — In  the  motives  to  which  it  appeals, 
custom  is  able  to  make  a  far  better  showing  than  earlier 
writers,  like  Herbert  Spencer,  gave  it  credit  for.  It  doubt- 
less employs  fear  in  its  taboos ;  it  doubtless  enlists  the 
passion  of  resentment  in  its  blood  feuds.  Even  these  are 
modified  by  a  social  environment.  For  the  fear  of  vio- 
lating a  taboo  is  in  part  the  fear  of  bringing  bad  luck 
on  the  whole  group,  and  not  merely  on  the  violator.  We 
have,  therefore,  a  quasi-social  fear,  not  a  purely  in- 
stinctive reaction.  The  same  is  true  in  perhaps  a  stronger 
degree  of  the  resentments.  The  blood  revenge  is  in  a 
majority  of  cases  not  a  personal  but  a  group  affair.  It 
is  undertaken  at  personal  risk  and  for  others'  interest — 
or  rather  for  a  common  interest.  The  resentment  is  thus  a 
"sympathetic  resentment .''^^  Regarded  as  a  mere  reaction 
for  self-preservation  this  instinctive-emotional  process  is 
unmoral.  As  a  mere  desire  to  produce  pain  it  would  be  im- 
moral. But  so  far  as  it  implies  an  attitude  of  reacting 
from  a  general  point  of  view  and  to  aid  others,  it  is  moral. 
Aside  from  the  passions  of  fear  and  resentment,  however, 
there  is  a  wide  range  of  motives  enlisted.  Filial  and  pa- 
rental affection,  some  degree  of  affection  between  the  sexes 
over  and  above  sex  passion,  respect  for  the  aged  and  the 

^  Westermarck  regards  this  as  one  of  the  fundamental  elements 
in  the  beginnings  of  morality. 


VALUES  AND  DEFECTS  OF  CUSTOM        71 

beings  who  embody  ideals  however  crude,  loyalty  to  fellow 
clansmen, — all  these  are  not  only  fostered  but  actually  se- 
cured by  the  primitive  group.  But  the  motives  which 
imply  reflection — reverence  for  duty  as  the  imperious  law 
of  a  larger  life,  sincere  love  of  what  is  good  for  its 
own  sake — cannot  be  brought  to  full  consciousness  until 
there  is  a  more  definite  conception  of  a  moral  authority,  a 
more  definite  contrast  between  the  one  great  good  and  the 
partial  or  temporary  satisfactions.  The  development  of 
these  conceptions  requires  a  growth  in  individuality;  it 
requires  conflicts  between  authority  and  liberty,  and  those 
collisions  between  private  interests  and  the  public  welfare 
which  a  higher  civilization  aff*ords. 

3.  The  Content. — When  we  consider  the  "what"  of 
group  and  customary  morality  we  note  at  once  that  the 
factors  which  make  for  the  idealizing  and  expansion  of  in- 
terests are  less  in  evidence  than  those  which  make  for  a  com- 
mon and  social  interest  and  satisfaction.  There  is  indeed,  as 
we  have  noted,  opportunity  for  memory  and  fancy.  The 
traditions  of  the  past,  the  myths,  the  cultus,  the  folk  songs 
— these  keep  up  a  mental  life  which  is  as  genuinely  valued 
as  the  more  physical  activities.  But  as  the  mode  of  life  in 
question  does  not  evoke  the  more  abstractly  rational  activi- 
ties— reasoning,  selecting,  choosing — in  the  highest  degree, 
the  ideals  lack  reach  and  power.  It  needs  the  incen- 
tives described  in  the  following  chapters  to  call  out  a  true 
life  of  the  spirit.  The  social  aspects  of  the  "what,"  on  the 
other  hand,  are  well  rooted  in  group  morality.  It  is  un- 
necessary to  repeat  what  has  been  dwelt  upon  in  the 
present  and  preceding  chapters  so  fully.  We  point  out  now 
that  while  the  standard  is  social,  it  is  unconsciously  rather 
than  consciously  social.  Or  perhaps  better :  it  is  a  standard 
of  society  but  not  a  standard  which  each  member  deliber- 
ately makes  his  own.  He  takes  it  as  a  matter  of  course. 
He  is  in  the  clan,  "with  the  gang";  he  thinks  and  acts 
accordingly.    He  cannot  begin  to  be  as  selfish  as  a  modern 


72      GROUP  MORALITY— CUSTOMS  OR  MORES 

individualist ;  he  simply  hasn't  the  imagery  to  conceive  such 
an  exclusive  good,  nor  the  tools  with  which  to  carry  it  out. 
But  he  cannot  be  as  broadly  social  either.  He  may  not  be 
able  to  sink  so  low  as  the  civilized  miser,  or  debauchee,  or 
criminal,  but  neither  can  he  conceive  or  build  up  the  char- 
acter which  implies  facing  opposition.  The  moral  hero 
achieves  full  stature  only  when  he  pits  himself  against 
others,  when  he  recognizes  evil  and  fights  it,  when  he  "over- 
comes the  world." 

4.  Organization  of  Character.— In  the  organization  of 
stable  character  the  morality  of  custom  is  strong  on  one 
side.  The  group  trains  its  members  to  act  in  the  ways  it 
approves  and  afterwards  holds  them  by  all  the  agencies  in 
its  power.  It  forms  habits  and  enforces  them.  Its  weak- 
ness is  that  the  element  of  habit  is  so  large,  that  of  free- 
dom so  small.  It  holds  up  the  average  man ;  it  holds  back 
the  man  who  might  forge  ahead.  It  is  an  anchor,  and  a 
drag. 


LITERATURE 

Much  of  the  literature  at  the  close  of  Chapters  II.  and  III.,  par- 
ticularly the  works  of  Spencer  and  Gillen  and  Schurtz,  belongs  here 
also.  Schoolcraft,  Indian  Tribes,  1851-57;  Eastman,  Indian  Boyhood, 
1902.  Papers  on  various  cults  of  North  American  Indians  in  reports 
of  the  Bureau  of  Ethnology,  by  Stevenson,  8th,  1886-87;  Dorsey,  11th, 
1889-90;  Fewkes,  15th,  1893-94,  21st,  1899-1900;  Fletcher,  22nd, 
1900-01;  Stevenson,  23d,  1901-02;  Kidd,  Savage  Childhood,  1906; 
The  Essential  Kafjlr,  1904;  Skeat,  Malay  Magic,  1900;  N.  W.  Thomas, 
general  editor  of  Series,  The  Native  Races  of  the  British  Empire, 
1907-;  Barton,  A  Sketch  of  Semitic  Origins,  1902;  Harrison,  Pro- 
legomena to  the  Study  of  Greek  Religion,  1903;  Reinach,  Cultes, 
Mythes  et  Religions,  2  vols.,  1905;  Frazer,  The  Golden  Bough,  3 
vols.,  1900;  Marett,  Is  Taboo  Negative  Magic?  in  Anthropological 
Essays,  presented  to  E.  B.  Tylor,  1907;  Crawley,  The  Mystic  Rose, 
1902;  Spencer,  Sociology,  1876-96;  Clifford,  On  the  Scientific  Basis  of 
Morals  in  Lectures  and  Essays,  1886;  Maine,  Early  History  of  In- 
stitutions, 1888;  Early  Law  and  Custom,  1886;  Post,  Die  Grundlagen 
des  Rechts  und  die  Grundziige  seiner  Entwicklungsgeschichte,  1884; 
Ethnologische  Jurisprudenz,  1894-95;  Pollock  and  Maitland,  History 
of  English  Law,  1899;  Steinmetz,  Ethnologische  Studien  zur  ersten 
Entwicklung  der  Strafe,  1894, 


CHAPTER  V 

FROM  CUSTOM  TO  CONSCIENCE ;  FROM  GROUP 
MORALITY  TO  PERSONAL  MORALITY 

§  1.    CONTRAST  AND   COLMSION 

I.  What  the  Third  Level  Means. — Complete  morality 
is  reached  only  when  the  individual  recognizes  the  right  or 
chooses  the  good  freely,  devotes  himself  heartily  to  its  ful- 
fillment, and  seeks  a  progressive  social  development  in  which 
every  member  of  society  shall  share.  The  group  morality 
with  its  agencies  of  custom  set  up  a  standard,  but  one  that 
was  corporate  rather  than  personal.  It  approved  and  dis- 
approved, that  is  it  had  an  idea  of  good,  but  this  did  not 
mean  a  good  that  was  personally  valued.  It  enlisted  its 
members,  but  it  was  by  drill,  by  pleasure  and  pain,  and  by 
habit,  rather  than  by  fully  voluntary  action.  It  secured 
steadiness  by  habit  and  social  pressure,  rather  than  by 
choices  built  into  character.  It  maintained  community  of 
feeling  and  action,  but  of  the  unconscious  rather  than  the 
definitely  social  type.  Finally  it  was  rather  fitted  to  main- 
tain a  fixed  order  than  to  promote  and  safeguard  progress. 
Advance  then  must  ( 1 )  substitute  some  rational  method  of 
setting  up  standards  and  forming  values,  in  place  of  habit- 
ual passive  acceptance;  (S)  secure  voluntary  and  personal 
choice  and  interest,  instead  of  unconscious  identification 
with  the  group  welfare,  or  instinctive  and  habitual  response 
to  group  needs;  (3)  encourage  at  the  same  time  individual 
development  and  the  demand  that  all  shall  share  in  this 
development — the  worth  and  happiness  of  the  person  and 
of  every  person. 

73 


74     FROM  CUSTOM  TO  CONSCIENCE 

2.  Collisions  Involved. — Such  an  advance  brings 
to  consciousness  two  collisions.  The  oppositions  were 
there  before,  but  they  were  not  felt  as  oppositions.  So 
long  as  the  man  was  fully  with  his  group,  or  satisfied 
with  the  custom,  he  would  make  no  revolt.  When  the 
movement  begins  the  collisions  are  felt.  These  collisions 
are: 

( 1 )  The  collision  between  the  authority  and  interests  of 
the  group,  and  the  independence  and  private  interests  of 
the  individual. 

(2)  The  collision  between  order  and  progress,  between 
habit  and  reconstruction  or  reformation. 

It  is  evident  that  there  is  a  close  connection  between 
these  two  collisions ;  in  fact,  the  second  becomes  in  practice 
a  form  of  the  first.  For  we  saw  in  the  last  chapter  that 
custom  is  really  backed  and  enforced  by  the  group,  and  its 
merely  habitual  parts  are  as  strongly  supported  as  those 
parts  which  have  a  more  rational  basis.  It  would  perhaps 
be  conceivable  that  a  people  should  move  on  all  together, 
working  out  a  higher  civilization  in  which  free  thought 
should  keep  full  reverence  for  social  values,  in  which  politi- 
cal liberty  should  keep  even  pace  with  the  development  of 
government,  in  which  self-interest  should  be  accompanied 
by  regard  for  the  welfare  of  others,  just  as  it  may  be  pos- 
sible for  a  child  to  grow  into  full  morality  without  a  period 
of  "storm  and  stress."  But  this  is  not  usual.  Progress 
has  generally  cost  struggle.  And  the  first  phase  of  this 
struggle  is  opposition  between  the  individual  and  the 
group.  The  self-assertive  instincts  and  impulses  were  pres- 
ent in  group  life,  but  they  were  in  part  undeveloped  because 
they  had  not  enough  stimulus  to  call  them  out.  A  man 
could  not  develop  his  impulse  for  possession  to  its  full  ex- 
tent if  there  was  little  or  nothing  for  him  to  possess.  In 
part  they  were  not  developed  because  the  group  held  them 
back,  and  the  conditions  of  living  and  fighting  favored 
those  groups  which  did  keep  them  back.    Nevertheless  they 


CONTRAST  AND  COLLISION  75 

were  present  in  some  degree,  always  contending  against  the 
more  social  forces.  Indeed  what  makes  the  opposition  be- 
tween group  and  individual  so  strong  and  so  continuous  is 
that  both  the  social  and  the  individual  are  rooted  in  human 
nature.  They  constitute  what  Kant  calls  the  unsocial  soci- 
ahleness  of  man.  "Man  cannot  get  on  with  his  fellows  and 
he  cannot  do  without  them." 

Individualism. — The  assertion  by  the  individual  of  his 
own  opinions  and  beliefs,  his  own  independence  and  inter- 
ests, as  over  against  group  standards,  authority,  and  in- 
terests, is  known  as  individualism.  It  is  evident  that  such 
assertion  will  always  mark  a  new  level  of  conduct.  Action 
must  now  be  personal  and  voluntary.  It  is  also  evident 
that  it  may  be  either  better  or  worse  than  the  level  of  custom 
and  group  life.  The  first  effect  is  likely  to  be,  in  appearance 
at  least,  a  change  for  the  worse.  The  old  restraints  are 
tossed  aside ;  "creeds  outworn"  no  longer  steady  or  direct ; 
the  strong  or  the  crafty  individual  comes  to  the  fore  and 
exploits  his  fellows.  Every  man  does  what  is  "right  in  his 
own  eyes."  The  age  of  the  Sophists  in  Greece,  of  the  Re- 
naissance in  Italy,  of  the  Enlightenment  and  Romantic 
movement  in  western  Europe,  and  of  the  industrial  revolu- 
tion in  recent  times  illustrate  different  phases  of  individ- 
ualism. A  people,  as  well  as  an  individual,  may  "go  to 
pieces"  in  its  reaction  against  social  authority  and  custom. 
But  such  one-sided  individualism  is  almost  certain  to  call 
out  prophets  of  a  new  order ;  "organic  filaments"  of  new 
structures  appear ;  family,  industry,  the  state,  are  organ- 
ized anew  and  upon  more  voluntary  basis.  Those  who  ac- 
cept the  new  conditions  and  assume  responsibility  with 
their  freedom,  who  direct  their  choices  by  reason  instead  of 
passion,  who  "aim  at  justice  and  kindness"  as  well  as  at 
happiness,  become  moral  persons  and  gain  thereby  new 
worth  and  dignity.  While,  then,  the  general  movement  is  on 
the  whole  a  movement  of  individualism,  it  demands  just  as 
necessarily,   if  there   is  to  be   moral   progress,   a   recon- 


76     FROM  CUSTOM  TO  CONSCIENCE 

structed  individual — a  person  who  is  individual  in  choice, 
in  feehng,  in  responsibihty,  and  at  the  same  time  social  in 
what  he  regards  as  good,  in  his  sympathies,  and  in  his  pur- 
poses. Otherwise  individualism  means  progress  toward  the 
immoral. 


§  2.    SOCIOLOGICAL  AGENCIES  IN  THE  TRANSITION 

The  agencies  which  bring  about  the  change  from  cus- 
tomary and  group  morality  to  conscious  and  personal 
morality  are  varied.  Just  as  character  is  developed  in 
the  child  and  young  man  by  various  means,  sometimes 
by  success,  sometimes  by  adversity  or  loss  of  a  parent, 
sometimes  by  slow  increase  in  knowledge,  and  sometimes 
by  a  sudden  right-about-face  with  a  strong  emotional  basis, 
so  it  is  with  peoples.  Some,  like  the  Japanese  at  the  pres- 
ent, are  brought  into  sudden  contact  with  the  whole  set  of 
commercial  and  military  forces  from  without.  Among 
others,  as  with  the  Greeks,  a  fermentation  starts  within, 
along  intellectual,  economic,  political,  and  religious  lines. 
Or  again,  national  calamities  may  upset  all  the  old  values, 
as  with  the  Hebrews.  But  we  may  note  four  typical  agen- 
cies which  are  usually  more  or  less  active. 

I.  Economic  Forces. — The  action  of  economic  forces  in 
breaking  up  the  early  kinship  group  or  joint  family  may 
be  noticed  in  the  history  of  many  peoples.  The  clan  flour- 
ishes in  such  conditions  of  hunting  life  or  of  simple  agri- 
culture as  were  found  among  Australians  and  Indians,  or 
among  the  Celts  in  Ireland  and  the  Scottish  Highlands. 
It  cannot  survive  when  a  more  advanced  state  of  agricul- 
ture prevails.  A  certain  amount  of  individualism  will  ap- 
pear wherever  the  advantage  for  the  individual  lies  in  sep- 
arate industry  and  private  ownership.  If  buff^alo  was  to 
be  hunted  it  was  better  to  pool  issues,  but  for  smaller  game 
the  skilful  or  persistent  huntsman  or  shepherd  will  think 
he  can  gain  more  by  working  for  himself.     This  is  intensi- 


THE  SOCIOLOGICAL  AGENCIES  77 

fied  when  agriculture  and  commerce  take  the  place  of 
earlier  modes  of  life.  The  farmer  has  to  work  so  hard  and 
long,  his  goal  is  so  far  in  the  future,  that  differences  of 
character  show  themselves  much  more  strongly.  Hunting 
and  fishing  are  so  exciting,  and  the  reward  is  so  near,  that 
even  a  man  who  is  not  very  industrious  will  do  his  part. 
But  in  agriculture  only  the  hard  and  patient  worker  gets 
a  reward  and  he  does  not  like  to  share  it  with  the  lazy,  or 
even  with  the  weaker.  Commerce,  bargaining,  likewise  puts 
a  great  premium  on  individual  shrewdness.  And  for  a 
long  time  commerce  was  conducted  on  a  relatively  individ- 
ual basis.  Caravans  of  traders  journeyed  together  for 
mutual  protection  but  there  was  not  any  such  organiza- 
tion as  later  obtained,  and  each  individual  could  display 
his  own  cunning  or  ability.  Moreover  commerce  leads  to 
the  comparison  of  custom,  to  interchange  of  ideas  as  well 
as  goods.  All  this  tends  to  break  down  the  sanctity  of 
customs  peculiar  to  a  given  group.  The  trader  as  well  as 
the  guest  may  overstep  the  barriers  set  up  by  kin.  The 
early  Greek  colonists,  among  whom  a  great  individualistic 
movement  began,  were  the  traders  of  their  day.  The  parts 
of  Europe  where  most  survives  of  primitive  group  life  are 
those  little  touched  by  modern  commerce. 

But  we  get  a  broader  view  of  economic  influences  if  we 
consider  the  methods  of  organizing  industry  which  have 
successively  prevailed.  In  early  society,  and  likewise  in 
the  earlier  period  of  modern  civilization,  the  family  was  a 
great  economic  unit.  Many  or  most  of  the  industries  could 
be  advantageously  carried  on  in  the  household.  As  in  the 
cases  cited  above  (p.  60 )  the  stronger  or  adventurous  mem- 
ber would  be  constantly  trying  to  strike  out  for  himself. 
This  process  of  constant  readjustment  is,  however,  far  less 
thoroughgoing  in  its  effects  on  mores  than  the  three  great 
methods  of  securing  a  broader  organization  of  industry. 
In  primitive  society  large  enterprises  had  to  be  carried  on 
by  the  co-operation  of  the  group.     Forced  labor  as  used 


78     FROM  CUSTOM  TO  CONSCIENCE 

by  the  Oriental  civilizations  substituted  a  method  by  which 
greater  works  like  the  pyramids  or  temples  could  be  built, 
but  it  brought  with  it  the  overthrow  of  much  of  the  old 
group  sympathies  and  mutual  aid.  In  Greece  and  Rome 
slavery  did  the  drudgery  and  left  the  citizens  free  to  cul- 
tivate art,  letters,  and  government.  It  gave  opportunity 
and  scope  for  the  few.  Men  of  power  and  genius  arose, 
and  at  the  same  time  all  the  negative  forces  of  individual- 
ism asserted  themselves.  In  modern  times  capitalism  is  the 
method  for  organizing  industry  and  trade.  It  proves 
more  effective  than  forced  labor  or  slavery  in  securing 
combination  of  forces  and  in  exploiting  natural  resources. 
It  likewise  gives  extraordinary  opportunities  for  the  rise 
of  men  of  organizing  genius.  The  careers  of  "captains 
of  industry"  are  more  fascinating  than  those  of  old-time 
conquerors  because  they  involve  more  complex  situations, 
and  can  utilize  the  discoveries  and  labors  of  more  men.  But 
modern  capitalism  has  been  as  destructive  to  the  morality 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  or  even  of  a  hundred  years  ago,  as 
was  forced  labor  or  slavery  to  the  group  life  and  mores 
which  they  destroyed. 

2.  The  Progress  of  Science  and  the  Arts. — The  effect 
of  the  progress  of  science  and  intelligence  upon  the  mores 
is  direct.  Comparisons  of  the  customs  of  one  people  with 
those  of  another  bring  out  differences,  and  arouse  ques- 
tions as  to  the  reasons  for  such  diversity.  And  we  have 
seen  that  there  is  more  or  less  in  the  customs  for  which  no 
reason  can  be  given.  Even  if  there  was  one  originally 
it  has  been  forgotten.  Or  again,  increasing  knowledge  of 
weather  and  seasons,  of  plants  and  animals,  of  sickness 
and  disease,  discredits  many  of  the  taboos  and  ceremo- 
nials which  the  cruder  beliefs  had  regarded  as  essential 
to  welfare.  Certain  elements  of  ritual  may  survive  under 
the  protection  of  "mysteries,"  but  the  more  enlightened 
portion  of  the  community  keeps  aloof.  Instead  of  the 
mores  with  their  large  infusion  of  the  accidental,  the  ha- 


THE  SOCIOLOGICAL  AGENCIES  79 

bitual,  and  the  impulsive,  increasing  intelligence  demands 
some  rational  rule  of  life. 

And  science  joins  with  the  various  industrial  and  fine 
arts  to  create  a  new  set  of  interests  for  the  individual. 
Any  good  piece  of  workmanship,  any  work  of  art  however 
simple,  is  twice  blest.  It  blesses  him  that  makes  and  him 
that  uses  or  enjoys.  The  division  of  labor,  begun  in  group 
life,  is  carried  further.  Craftsmen  and  artists  develop 
increasing  individuality  as  they  construct  temples  or  pal- 
aces, fashion  statues  or  pottery,  or  sing  of  gods  and  heroes. 
Their  minds  grow  with  what  they  do.  Side  by  side  with 
the  aspect  of  art  which  makes  it  a  bond  of  society  is  the 
aspect  which  so  frequently  makes  the  skilled  workman  the 
critic,  and  the  artist  a  law  to  himself.  In  the  next  place 
note  the  effect  on  those  who  can  use  and  en j  oy  the  products 
of  the  arts.  A  new  world  of  satisfaction  and  happiness  is 
opened  which  each  person  can  enter  for  himself.  In  cruder , 
conditions  there  was  not  much  out  of  which  to  build  up' 
happiness.  Food,  labor,  rest,  the  thrill  of  hunt  or  contest, 
the  passion  of  sex,  the  pride  in  children — these  made  up  the 
interests  of  primitive  hf  e.  Further  means  of  enj  oyment  were 
found  chiefly  in  society  of  the  kin,  or  in  the  men's  house. 
But  as  the  arts  advanced  the  individual  could  have  made 
for  him  a  fine  house  and  elaborate  clothing.  Metal,  wood, 
and  clay  minister  to  increasing  wants.  A  permanent  and 
stately  tomb  makes  the  future  more  definite.  The  ability 
to  hand  down  wealth  in  durable  form  places  a  premium  on 
its  acquirement.  Ambition  has  more  stuff  to  work  with.' 
A  more  definite,  assertive  self  is  gradually  built  up. 
"Good"  comes  to  have  added  meaning  with  every  new 
want  that  awakes.  The  individual  is  not  satisfied  any 
longer  to  take  the  group's  valuation.  He  wants  to  get  his 
own  good  in  his  own  way.  And  it  will  often  seem  to  him 
that  he  can  get  his  own  good  most  easily  and  surely 
either  by  keeping  out  of  the  common  life  or  by  using 
his  fellow  men  to  his  own   advantage.     Men  of  culture 


80     FROM  CUSTOM  TO  CONSCIENCE 

have  frequently  shown  their  selfishness  in  the  first  way; 
men  of  wealth  in  the  second.  An  aristocracy  of  cul- 
ture, or  birth,  or  wealth  may  come  to  regard  the  whole 
process  of  civilization  as  properly  ministering  to  the  wants 
of  the  select  few.  Nearly  every  people  which  has  developed 
the  arts  and  sciences  has  developed  also  an  aristocracy. 
In  the  ancient  world  slavery  was  a  part  of  the  process.  In 
modern  times  other  forms  of  exploitation  may  serve  the 
purpose  better.  Individualism,  released  from  the  ties 
which  bound  up  the  good  of  one  with  the  good  of  all,  tends 
to  become  exclusive  and  selfish ;  civilization  with  all  its  op- 
portunities for  increasing  happiness  and  increasing  life 
has  its  moral  risks  and  indirectly,  at  least,  its  moral  evils. 

These  evils  may  appear  as  the  gratification  of  sense  and 
appetite  and  thus  may  be  opposed  to  the  higher  life  of  the 
spirit,  which  needs  no  outer  objects  or  luxuries.  Or  they 
may  appear  as  rooted  in  selfishness,  in  the  desire  for  grat- 
ifying the  exclusive  self  of  material  interests  or  ambition, 
as  over  against  sympathy,  justice,  and  kindness,  which 
mark  a  broadly  human  and  social  life.  In  both  cases  se- 
rious men  have  sought  to  overcome  by  some  form  of  '*self- 
denial"  the  evils  that  attend  on  civilization,  even  if  they  are 
not  due  to  it. 

3.  Military  Forces. — The  kinship  group  is  a  protection 
so  long  as  it  has. to  contend  only  with  similar  groups.  The 
headlong  valor  and  tribal  loyalty  of  German  or  Scottish 
clans  may  even  win  conflicts  with  more  disciplined  troops 
of  Rome  or  England.  But  permanent  success  demands 
higher  organization  than  the  old  clans  and  tribes  permit- 
ted. Organization  means  authority,  and  a  single  direct- 
ing, controlling  commander  or  king.  As  Egypt,  Assyria, 
Phoenicia  show  their  strength  the  clans  of  Israel  cry,  "Nay, 
but  we  will  have  a  king  over  us ;  that  we  may  also  be  like  all 
the  nations;  and  that  our  king  may  judge  us,  and  go  out 
before  us,  and  fight  our  battles."  ^  Wars  aff*ord  the  oppor- 
*1  Sam.  8:19,  20. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGICAL  AGENCIES  81 

tunity  for  the  strong  and  unscrupulous  leader  to  assert 
himself.  Like  commerce  they  may  tend  also  to  spread  cul- 
ture and  thus  break  down  barriers  of  ancient  custom.  The 
conquests  of  Babjdon  and  Alexander,  the  Crusades  and  the 
French  Revolution,  are  instances  of  the  power  of  military 
forces  to  destroy  old  customs  and  give  individualism  new 
scope.  In  most  cases,  it  is  true,  it  is  only  the  leader  or  "ty- 
rant" who  gets  the  advantage.  He  uses  the  whole  ma- 
chinery of  society  for  his  own  elevation.  Nevertheless 
custom  and  group  unity  are  broken  for  all.  Respect  for 
law  must  be  built  new  from  the  foundation. 

4.  Religious  Forces. — While  in  general  religion  is  a 
conservative  agency,  it  is  also  true  that  a  new  religion  or 
a  new  departure  in  religion  has  often  exercised  a  powerful 
influence  on  moral  development.  The  very  fact  that  re- 
ligion is  so  intimately  bound  up  with  all  the  group  mores 
and  ideals,  makes  a  change  in  religion  bear  directly  on 
old  standards  of  life.  The  collision  between  old  and  new 
is  likely  to  be  fundamental  and  sharp.  A  conception  of 
God  may  carry  with  it  a  view  of  what  conduct  is  pleasing 
to  him.  A  doctrine  as  to  the  future  may  require  a  certain 
mode  of  life.  A  cultus  may  approve  or  condemn  certain 
relations  between  the  sexes.  Conflicting  religions  may  then 
force  a  moral  attitude  in  weighing  their  claims.  The  con- 
tests between  Jehovah  and  Baal,  between  Orphic  cults  and 
the  public  Greek  religion,  between  Judaism  and  Chris- 
tianity, Christianity  and  Roman  civilization,  Christianity 
and  Germanic  religion,  Catholicism  and  Protestantism, 
have  brought  out  moral  issues.  We  shall  notice  this  factor 
especially  in  Chapters  VI.  and  VIII. 

§  3.    THE   PSYCHOLOGICAL  AGENCIES 

The  psychological  forces  which  tend  toward  Individ- 
ualism have  been  already  stated  to  be  the  self-assertive  in- 
stincts and  impulses.    They  are  all  variations  of  the  effort 


82     FROM  CUSTOM  TO  CONSCIENCE 

of  the  living  being  first  to  preserve  itself  and  then  to  rise 
to  more  complicated  life  by  entering  into  more  complex 
relations  and  mastering  its  environment.  Spinoza's  *'sui 
esse  conservare,'*  Schopenhauer's  "will  to  live,"  Nietzsche's 
'Vill  to  power,"  the  Hebrew's  passionate  ideal  of  "life", 
and  Tennyson's  "More  life,  and  fuller"  express  in  vary- 
ing degree  the  meaning  of  this  elemental  bent  and  process. 
Growing  intelligence  adds  to  its  strength  by  giving 
greater  capacity  to  control.  Starting  with  organic  needs, 
this  developing  life  process  may  find  satisfactions  in 
the  physical  world  in  the  increasing  power  and  mastery 
over  nature  gained  by  the  explorer  or  the  hunter,  the  dis- 
coverer, the  craftsman,  or  the  artist.  It  is  when  it  enters 
the  world  of  persons  that  it  displays  a  peculiar  intensity 
that  marks  the  passions  of  individualism  par  excellence. 
We  note  four  of  these  tendencies  toward  self-assertion. 

I.  Sex. — The  sex  instinct  and  emotion  occupies  a  pe- 
culiar position  in  this  respect.  On  the  one  hand  it  is  a 
powerful  socializing  agency.  It  brings  the  sexes  together 
and  is  thus  fundamental  to  the  family.  But  on  the  other 
hand  it  is  constantly  rebelling  against  the  limits  and  con- 
ventions established  by  the  social  group  for  its  regulation. 
The  statutes  against  illicit  relations,  from  the  codes  of 
Hammurabi  and  Moses  to  the  latest  efforts  for  stricter 
divorce,  attest  the  collision  between  the  individual's  incli- 
nation and  the  will  of  the  group.  Repeatedly  some  passion 
of  sex  has  broken  over  all  social,  legal,  and  religious  sanc- 
tions. It  has  thus  been  a  favorite  theme  of  tragedy  from 
the  Greeks  to  Ibsen.  It  finds  another  fitting  medium  in 
the  romance.  It  has  called  into  existence  and  maintains 
in  every  large  city  an  outcast  colony  of  wretched  creatures, 
and  the  evils  which  attend  are  not  limited  in  their  results 
to  those  who  knowingly  take  the  risks.  It  has  worked  re- 
peated changes  in  the  structure  of  the  family  authorized 
by  society.  Its  value  and  proper  regulation  were  points 
at  issue  in  that  wide-reaching  change  of  mores  attendant 


THE  PSYCHOLOGICAL  AGENCIES  83 

upon  the  Reformation,  and  apparently  equilibrium  has  not 
yet  been  reached. 

2.  The  Demarfd  for  Possession  and  Private  Property. 
— In  the  primitive  group  we  have  seen  that  there  might  be 
private  property  in  tools  or  weapons,  in  cattle  or  slaves. 
There  was  little  private  property  in  land  under  the  mater- 
nal clan;  and  indeed  in  any  case,  so  long  as  the  arts  were 
undeveloped,  private  property  had  necessary  limits.  The 
demand  for  private  property  is  a  natural  attendant  upon 
individual  modes  of  industry.  As  we  have  said,  it  was  a 
common  principle  that  what  the  group  produced  was  owned 
by  the  group,  and  what  the  individual  made  or  captured 
was  treated  as  his.  When  individual  industry  came  to 
count  for  more,  the  individual  claimed  more  and  more  as 
private  possession. 

The  change  from  the  maternal  clan  to  the  paternal 
family  or  household  was  a  reenforcement  to  the  individual 
control  of  property.  The  father  could  hand  down  his  cat- 
tle or  his  house  to  his  son.  The  joint  family  of  India  is 
indeed  a  type  of  a  paternal  system.  Nevertheless  the 
tendency  is  much  stronger  to  insist  on  individual  property 
where  the  father's  goods  pass  to  his  son  than  where  they  go 
to  his  sister's  children. 

The  chiefs  or  rulers  were  likely  to  gain  the  right  of  pri- 
vate property  first.  Among  certain  families  of  the  South 
Slavs  to-day,  the  head  has  his  individual  eating  utensils, 
the  rest  share.  Among  many  people  the  chiefs  have  cattle 
which  they  can  dispose  of  as  they  will ;  the  rest  have  simply 
their  share  of  the  kin's  goods.  The  old  Brehon  laws  of 
Ireland  show  this  stage. 

But  however  it  comes  about,  the  very  meaning  of  prop- 
erty is,  in  the  first  place,  exclusion  of  others  from  some 
thing  which  I  have.  It  is  therefore  in  so  far  necessarily 
opposed  to  group  unity,  opposed  to  any  such  simple  soli- 
darity of  life  as  we  find  in  group  morality.  As  the  Amer- 
ican Indian  accepts  land  in  severalty,  the  old  group  life, 


84     FROM  CUSTOM  TO  CONSCIENCE 

the  tribal  restraints  and  supports,  the  group  custom  and 
moral  unity  that  went  with  it,  are  gone.  He  must  find  a 
new  basis  or  go  to  pieces. 

3.  Struggles  for  Mastery  or  Liberty. — In  most  cases 
these  cannot  be  separated  from  economic  struggles.  Mas- 
ters and  slaves  were  in  economic  as  well  as  personal  rela- 
tions, and  nearly  all  class  contests  on  a  large  scale  have 
had  at  least  one  economic  root,  whatever  their  other 
sources.  But  the  economic  is  not  their  only  root.  There 
have  been  wars  for  glory  or  for  liberty  as  well  as  for 
territory  or  booty  or  slaves.  As  the  struggle  for  exist- 
ence has  bred  into  the  race  the  instinct  of  self-defense 
with  its  emotion  of  anger,  the  instinct  to  rivalry  and 
mastery,  and  the  corresponding  aversion  to  being  ruled, 
so  the  progress  of  society  shows  trials  of  strength  between 
man  and  man,  kin  and  kin,  tribe  and  tribe.  And  while, 
as  stated  in  the  preceding  chapter,  the  cooperation  made 
necessary  in  war  or  feud  is  a  uniting  force,  there  is 
another  side  to  the  story.  Contests  between  individuals 
show  who  is  master;  contests  between  groups  tend  to 
bring  forward  leaders.  And  while  such  masterful  men 
may  serve  the  group  they  are  quite  as  likely  to  find 
an  interest  in  opposing  group  customs.  They  assert  an 
independence  of  the  group,  or  a  mastery  over  it,  quite  in- 
compatible with  the  solidarity  of  the  kinship  clan,  although 
the  patriarchal  type  of  household  under  a  strong  head 
may  be  quite  possible.  There  comes  to  be  one  code  for 
rich  and  another  for  poor,  one  for  Patricians  and  another 
for  Plebs,  one  for  baron  and  another  for  peasant,  one  for 
gentry  and  another  for  the  common  folk.  For  a  time  this 
may  be  accepted  patiently.  But  when  once  the  rich  become 
arrogant,  the  feudal  lord  insolent,  the  bitter  truth  is  faced 
that  the  customs  have  become  mere  conventions.  They  no 
longer  hold.  All  the  old  ties  are  cast  off.  The  demand  for 
freedom  and  equality  rises,  and  the  collision  between  au- 
thority and  liberty  is  on. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGICAL  AGENCIES  85 

Or  the  contest  may  be  for  intellectual  liberty — for  free 
thought  and  free  speech.  It  is  sometimes  considered  that 
such  liberty  meets  its  strongest  opponent  in  the  religious 
or  ecclesiastical  organization.  There  is  no  doubt  a  con- 
servative tendency  in  religion.  As  we  have  pointed  out, 
religion  is  the  great  conservator  of  group  values  and  group 
standards.  Its  ritual  is  most  elaborate,  its  taboos  most 
sacred.  Intellectual  criticism  tends  to  undermine  what  is 
outgrown  or  merely  habitual  here  as  elsewhere.  Ration- 
alism or  free  thought  has  set  itself  in  frequent  opposition 
likewise  to  what  has  been  claimed  to  be  "above  reason." 
Nevertheless  it  would  be  absurd  to  attribute  all  the  indi- 
vidualism to  science  and  all  the  conservatism  to  religion. 
Scientific  dogmas  and  "idols"  are  hard  to  displace.  Schools 
are  about  as  conservative  as  churches.  And  on  the  other 
hand  the  struggle  for  religious  liberty  has  usually  been 
carried  on  not  by  the  irreligious  but  by  the  religious.  The 
prophet  Amos  found  himself  opposed  by  the  religious  or- 
ganization of  his  day  when  he  urged  social  righteousness, 
and  the  history  of  the  noble  army  of  martyrs  is  a  record 
of  appeal  to  individual  conscience,  or  to  an  immediate  per- 
sonal relation  to  God,  as  over  against  the  formal,  the  tra- 
ditional, the  organized  religious  customs  and  doctrines  of 
their  age.  The  struggle  for  religious  toleration  and  reli- 
gious liberty  takes  its  place  side  by  side  with  the  strug- 
gles for  intellectual  and  political  liberty  in  the  chapters 
of  individualism. 

4.  The  Desire  for  Honor,  or  Social  Esteem. — James, 
in  his  psychology  of  the  self,  calls  the  recognition  which 
a  man  gets  from  his  mates  his  "social  self."  "We  are  not 
only  gregarious  animals,  liking  to  be  in  sight  of  our  fel- 
lows, but  we  have  an  innate  propensity  to  get  ourselves 
noticed,  and  noticed  favorably  by  our  kind.  No  more  fiend- 
ish punishment  could  be  devised,  were  such  a  thing  physi- 
cally possible,  than  that  one  should  be  turned  loose  in 
society  and  remain  absolutely  unnoticed  by  all  the  members 


86     FROM  CUSTOM  TO  CONSCIENCE 

thereof."^  From  such  a  punishment  "the  crudest  bodily 
tortures  would  be  a  relief ;  for  this  would  make  us  feel  that 
however  bad  might  be  our  plight,  we  had  not  sunk  to  such 
depth  as  to  be  unworthy  of  attention  at  all."  ^  Honor  or 
fame  is  a  name  for  one  of  the  various  "social  selves"  which 
a  man  may  build  up.  It  stands  for  what  those  of  a  given 
group  may  think  or  say  of  him.  It  has  a  place  and  a 
large  place  in  group  life.  Precedence,  salutations,  deco^ 
rations  in  costume  and  bodily  ornament,  praises  in  song 
for  the  brave,  the  strong,  the  cunning,  the  powerful,  with 
ridicule  for  the  coward  or  the  weakling  are  all  at  work. 
But  with  the  primitive  group  the  difference  between  men 
of  the  group  is  kept  within  bounds.  When  more  definite 
organization  of  groups  for  military  or  civil  purposes  be- 
gins, when  the  feudal  chief  gathers  his  retainers  and 
begins  to  rise  above  the  rest  of  the  community  in  strength, 
finally  when  the  progress  of  the  arts  gives  greater  means 
for  display,  the  desire  for  recognition  has  immensely 
greater  scope.  It  is  increased  by  the  instinct  of  emulation ; 
it  often  results  in  envy  and  jealousies.  It  becomes  then  a 
powerful  factor  in  stimulating  individualism. 

But  while  desires  for  honor  and  fame  provoke  individual- 
ism, they  carry  with  them,  like  desires  for  property  and 
power,  elements  that  make  for  reconstruction  of  the  social 
on  a  higher  level.  For  honor  implies  some  common  senti- 
ment to  which  the  individual  can  make  appeal.  Group  mem- 
bers praise  or  blame  what  accords  with  their  feeling  or  de- 
sire, but  they  do  not  act  as  individuals  merely,  praising 
what  pleases  them  as  individuals.  They  react  more  or  less 
completely  from  the  group  point  of  view;  they  honor  the 
man  who  embodies  the  group-ideal  of  courage,  or  other  ad- 
mirable and  respected  qualities.  And  here  comes  the 
motive  which  operates  to  force  a  better  ideal  than  mere 
desire  of  praise.    No  group  honors  the  man  who  is  definitely 

^  Psychology,  Vol.  I.,  ch.  x. 
*  Ibid,,  p.  '293  f. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGICAL  AGENCIES  87 

seeking  merely  its  applause  rather  than  its  approval — 
at  least  not  after  it  has  found  him  out.  The  force  of  pub- 
lic opinion  is  therefore  calculated  to  elicit  a  desire  to  be 
worthy  of  honor,  as  well  as  to  be  honored.  This  means  a 
desire  to  act  as  a  true  social  individual,  for  it  is  only  the 
true  member  of  the  group, — true  clansman, — true  patriot, 
— true  martyr, — who  appeals  to  the  other  members  when 
they  judge  as  members,  and  not  selfishly.  When  now  the 
group  whose  approval  is  sought  is  small,  we  have  class 
standards,  with  all  the  provincialism,  narrowness,  and 
prejudice  that  belong  to  them.  As  the  honor-seeker  is 
merely  after  the  opinion  of  his  class,  he  is  bound  to  be 
only  partly  social.  So  long  as  he  is  with  his  kin,  or  his 
set,  or  his  "gang,"  or  his  "party,"  or  his  "union,"  or 
his  "country" — regardless  of  any  wider  appeal — he  is 
bound  to  be  imperfectly  rational  and  social  in  his  con- 
duct. The  great  possibilities  of  the  desire  for  honor, 
and  of  the  desire  to  be  worthy  of  honor,  lie  then  in  the 
constant  extension  of  the  range.  The  martyr,  the  seeker 
for  truth,  the  reformer,  the  neglected  artist,  looks  for 
honor  from  posterity;  if  misjudged  or  neglected,  he  ap- 
peals to  mankind.  He  is  thus  forming  for  himself  an 
ideal  standard.  And  if  he  embodies  this  ideal  standard 
in  a  personal,  highest  possible  judging  companion,  his 
desire  to  be  worthy  of  approval  takes  a  religious  form. 
He  seeks  "the  honor  that  is  from  God."  Though  "the 
innermost  of  the  empirical  selves  of  a  man  is  a  self 
of  the  social  sort,  it  yet  can  find  its  only  adequate  socius 
in  an  ideal  world."  ^ 

The  moral  value  of  these  three  forces  of  individualism 
was  finely  stated  by  Kant: 

"The  means  which  nature  uses  to  bring  about  the  develop- 
ment of  all  the  capacities  she  has  given  man  is  their  antago- 
nism in  society,  in  so  far  as  this  antagonism  becomes  in  the  end 

*  James,  Psychology,  I.,  316, 


88  FROM  CUSTOM  TO  CONSCIENCE 

a  cause  of  social  order.  Men  have  an  inclination  to  associate 
themselves,  for  in  a  social  state  they  feel  themselves  more 
completely  men:  i.e.,  they  are  conscious  of  the  development 
of  their  natural  capacities.  But  they  have  also  a  great  pro- 
pensity to  isolate  themselves,  for  they  find  in  themselves  at  the 
same  time  this  unsocial  characteristic:  each  wishes  to  direct 
everything  solely  according  to  his  own  notion,  and  hence 
expects  resistance,  just  as  he  knows  that  he  is  inclined  to  resist 
others.  It  is  just  this  resistance  which  awakens  all  man's 
powers;  this  brings  him  to  overcome  his  propensity  to  indo- 
lence, and  drives  him  through  the  lust  for  honor,  power,  or 
wealth  to  win  for  himself  a  rank  among  his  fellowmen.  Man's 
will  is  for  concord,  but  nature  knows  better  what  is  good  for 
the  species,  and  she  wills  discord.  He  would  like  a  life  of 
comfort  and  pleasure;  nature  wills  that  he  be  dragged  out  of 
idleness  and  inactive  content,  and  plunged  into  labor  and 
trouble  in  order  that  he  may  find  out  the  means  of  extricating 
himself  from  his  difficulties.  The  natural  impulses  which 
prompt  this  effort,  the  sources  of  unsociableness  and  of  the 
mutual  conflict  from  which  so  many  evils  spring,  are  then 
spurs  to  a  more  complete  development  of  man's  powers.'* 

We  have  spoken  of  the  "forces"  which  tend  to  break 
down  the  old  unity  of  the  group  and  bring  about  new 
organization.  But  of  course  these  forces  are  not  im- 
personal. Sometimes  they  seem  to  act  like  the  ocean 
tide,  pushing  silently  in,  and  only  now  and  then  sending 
a  wave  a  little  higher  than  its  fellows.  Frequently,  how- 
ever, some  great  personality  stands  out  preeminent,  either 
as  critic  of  the  old  or  builder  of  the  new.  The  prophets 
were  stoned  because  they  condemned  the  present ;  the  next 
generation  was  ready  to  build  their  sepulchers.  Socrates 
is  the  classic  example  of  the  great  man  who  perishes  in 
seeking  to  find  a  rational  basis  to  replace  that  of  custom. 
Indeed,  this  conflict — on  the  one  hand,  the  rigid  system  of 
tradition  and  corporate  union  hallowed  by  all  the  sanctions 
of  religion  and  public  opinion;  upon  the  other,  the  indi- 
vidual making  appeal  to  reason,  or  to  his  conscience,  or  to 
a  "higher  law" — is  the  tragedy  of  history, 


POSITIVE  RECONSTRUCTION  89 

§  4.    POSITIVE    RECONSTRUCTION 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  moral  process  stops 
at  the  points  indicated  under  the  several  divisions  of  this 
last  section.  As  already  stated,  if  the  people  really 
works  out  a  higher  type  of  conscious  and  personal  moral- 
ity, it  means  not  only  a  more  powerful  individual,  but 
a  reconstructed  individual  and  a  reconstructed  society. 
It  means  not  only  the  disintegration  of  the  old  kinship  or 
family  group,  which  is  an  economic,  political,  and  reli- 
gious unity  as  well.  It  means  the  construction  of  a  new 
basis  for  the  family ;  new  moral  principles  for  business ; 
a  distinct  political  state  with  new  means  for  government, 
new  conceptions  of  authority  and  liberty;  finally,  a  na- 
tional or  universal  religion.  And  the  individual  must  on 
this  higher  level  choose  all  these  voluntarily.  More  than 
this:  as  he  chooses  in  the  presence  of  the  new  conflicting 
ends  presented  by  individualism,  he  sets  up  or  adopts  a 
standard  for  himself.  He  thinks  definitely  of  what  is 
"good"  and  "right."  As  he  recognizes  its  claim,  he  is 
responsible  as  well  as  free.  As  he  identifies  himself  heartily 
with  it,  he  becomes  sincerely  and  genuinely  moral.  Rev- 
erence, duty,  and  love  for  what  is  good  become  the 
quickening  emotions.  Thoughtfulness,  self-control,  aspira- 
tion toward  an  ideal,  courageous  venturing  in  its  achieve- 
ment, kindness  and  justice,  become  the  dominant  temper, 
or  at  least  are  recognized  as  the  temper  that  should 
be  dominant.  The  conception  of  moral  character  and 
moral  personality  is  brought  to  consciousness.  The  devel- 
opment of  the  Hebrews  and  Greeks  will  show  how  these 
positive  values  emerge. 


LITERATURE 

Kant's  Principles  of  Politics,  tr.  by  Hastie,   1891,  especially  the 
?ssay  The  Idea  of  a  Universal  Cosmopolitical  History;  Hegel,  Phi- 


90     FROM  CUSTOM  TO  CONSCIENCE 

losophy  of  History,  tr.  by  Sibree,  1881;  Darwin,  The  Descent  of 
Man,  1871,  1882-87;  Schurman,  The  Ethical  Import  of  Darwinism, 
1888;  Seth,  The  Evolution  of  Morality,  Mind,  XIV.,  1889,  pp.  27- 
49;  Williams,  A  Review  of  Systems  of  Ethics  founded  on  the  Theory 
of  Evolution,  1893;  Harris,  Moral  Evolution,  1895;  Tufts,  On  Moral 
Evolution,  in  Studies  in  Philosophy  and  Psychology  (Garman  Com- 
memorative Volume),  1906;  Ihering,  Der  Kampf  ums  Recht;  Simcox, 
Natural  Law,  1877;  Sorley,  Ethics  of  Naturalism,  1885. 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  HEBREW  MORAL  DEVELOPMENT 

§  1.    GENERAL    CHARACTER    AND    DETERMINING    PRINCIPLES 

I.  The  Hebrew  and  the  Greek. —  The  general  char- 
acter of  the  Hebrew  moral  development  may  be  brought 
out  by  a  contrast  with  that  of  the  Greeks.^  While  many 
phases  are  common,  there  is  yet  a  difference  in  emphasis 
and  focus.  There  were  political  and  economic  forces  at 
work  in  Israel,  and  religious  forces  in  Greece.  Neverthe- 
less, the  moral  life  in  one  people  kept  close  to  the  reli- 
gious, and  in  the  other  found  independent  channels.  Con- 
scientious conduct  for  the  Hebrew  centered  in  doing  the 
will  of  God;  for  the  Greek,  in  finding  rational  standards 
of  good.  For  the  Hebrew,  righteousness  was  the  typical 
theme;  for  the  Greek,  the  ideal  lay  rather  in  measure 
and  harmony.  For  the  Greek,  wisdom  or  insight  was 
the  chief  virtue;  for  the  Hebrew,  the  fear  of  the  Lord 
was  the  beginning  of  wisdom.  The  social  ideal  of  tlie 
Hebrews  was  the  kingdom  of  God ;  of  the  Greeks,  a  politi- 
cal State.  .If  we  distinguish  in  conscience  two  aspects, 
thoughtfulness  in  discovering  what  to  do  and  hearty  de- 
sire to  do  the  right  when  found,  then  the  Greeks  emphasize 
the  former,  the  Hebrews  the  latter.  Intellect  plays  a 
larger  part  with  the  Greek;  emotion  and  the  voluntary 
aspect  of  will  with  the  Hebrew.  Feeling  plays  its  part 
with  the  Greeks  largely  as  an  aesthetic  demand  for  meas- 
ure and  harmony ;  with  the  Hebrews  it  is  chiefly  prominent 
in  motivation,  where  it   is   an  element  in   what  is   called 

^  M.  Arnold,  "Hebraism  and  Hellenism,"  in  Culture  and  Anarchy, 
ch.  iv. 

91 


92     THE  HEBREW  MORAL  DEVELOPMENT 

"the  heart,"  or  it  functions  in  appreciation  of  acts  per- 
formed, as  the  joy  or  sorrow  felt  when  God  approves  or 
condemns.  Both  peoples  are  interesting  for  our  study, 
not  only  as  illustrating  different  kinds  of  moral  develop- 
ment, but  also  as  contributing  largely  to  the  moral  con- 
sciousness of  western  peoples  to-day. 

2.  The  Early  Morality. — The  accounts  of  the  tribal 
life  and  customs  in  the  early  period  after  the  settlement 
in  Canaan,  show  the  main  features  of  group  life  which  are 
already  familiar  to  us.  Clan  or  kinship  loyalty  was  strong 
on  both  its  good  and  its  defective  sides.  There  were  fidelity, 
a  jeoparding  of  lives  unto  death,  honor  for  group  heroes, 
joint  responsibility,  and  blood  revenge.  There  were  respect 
for  hospitality  and  regulation  of  marriage,  though  not  ac- 
cording to  later  standards.  A  rough  measure  of  justice 
was  recognized  in  "as  I  have  done,  so  God  hath  requited 
me."  But  there  was  no  public  authority  to  restrain  the 
wrongdoer,  except  when  a  particularly  revolting  brutality 
shocked  public  sentiment.  Festivals  and  sacrificial  meals 
united  the  members  of  the  family  or  clan  more  closely 
to  each  other  and  to  their  god.  Vows  must  be  kept 
inviolable  even  if  they  involved  human  sacrifice.  The  in- 
terests and  ends  of  life  were  simple.  The  satisfaction 
of  bodily  wants,  the  love  of  kin  and  above  all  of  children, 
the  desire  to  be  in  right  relation  of  favor  and  harmony 
with  the  unseen  deity  who  protected  from  enemies  and  sent 
fruitful  seasons, — these  made  their  chief  good.  The  line 
of  their  progress  from  these  rude  beginnings  to  a  lofty 
moral  ideal  lay  through  religion.  But  the  religious  con- 
ceptions were  directly  related  to  political,  social,  and 
economic  conditions;  hence,  both  aspects  must  be  briefly 
characterized. 

3.  Political  Development. — The  political  development 
(a)  built  up  a  national  unity  which  worked  to  break  down 
old  group  units,  (b)  strengthened  military  ambition  and 
race  pride,  (c)  stimulated  the  prophets  to  their  highest 


CHARACTER  AND  PRINCIPLES  93 

conceptions  of  the  divine  majesty  and  universality,  but, 
finally  when  the  national  power  and  hope  were  shattered, 
(d)  compelled  the  most  thoroughgoing  reconstruction 
of  all  the  values,  ideals,  and  meaning  of  life.  It  is  not 
possible  or  necessary  to  trace  this  process  in  detail,  but 
we  may  point  out  here  the  general  effect  of  the  political 
development  in  bringing  into  clearer  consciousness  the 
conceptions  of  authority  and  law  which  were  important 
factors  in  Hebrew  morality.  The  earlier  patriarchal 
head  of  the  clan  or  family  exercised  certain  political 
power,  but  there  was  no  explicit  recognition  of  this.  Gov- 
ernment by  the  "elders"  or  by  the  heads  of  the  household 
makes  no  clear  distinction  between  the  common  kinship 
and  the  political  and  legal  authority  of  the  sovereign. 
The  "judges,"  whose  rule  preceded  the  kingdom,  were 
military  deliverers  who  owed  their  authority  to  personal 
powers  rather  than  to  a  definite  provision.  To  establish 
an  organized  political  community,  a  kingdom,  was  then 
to  bring  into  clearer  recognition  this  element  of  authority 
which  was  merely  implicit  in  the  tribal  organization.  It 
allowed  a  more  distinctly  voluntary  relationship  to  be 
differentiated  from  the  involuntary  relationship  of  kinship, 
or  the  personal  relationship  of  the  hero.  While,  therefore, 
in  the  formation  of  the  kingdom  the  earlier  prophets 
saw  only  a  rejection  of  God,  the  later  prophets  saw  in 
it  the  symbol  of  a  higher  type  of  relation  between  God  and 
people.  It  was  given  religious  sanction  and  the  king  was 
regarded  as  the  son  of  Jehovah.  It  was  thus  ready  to 
serve  as  the  scheme  or  setting  for  the  moral  unity  and 
order  of  a  people. 

4.  The  Economic  Factors. — The  organization  and  grow- 
ing prosperity  of  the  political  power  were  attended  by  eco- 
nomic and  social  changes.  The  simple  agricultural  life 
of  the  early  period  had  not  caused  entire  loss  of  clan 
organization  and  customs.  But  the  growth  of  trade  and 
commerce  under  Solomon  and  later  kings  brought  in  wealth 


94     THE  HEBREW  MORAL  DEVELOPMENT 

and  shifted  the  center  of  power  and  influence  from  country 
to  city.  Wealth  and  luxury  had  their  usual  results. 
Clashing  interests  asserted  their  strength.  Economic  and 
social  individualism  destroyed  the  old  group  solidarity. 
At  the  times  of  the  prophets  Amos,  Hosea,  Isaiah,  there 
were  classes  of  rich  and  poor.  Greed  had  asserted  itself 
in  rulers,  judges,  priests,  and  "regular"  prophets.  Op- 
pression, land  monopoly,  bribery,  extortion,  stirred  moral 
indignation.  The  fact  that  these  were  practiced  by  the 
most  zealous  observers  of  ritual  and  guardians  of  religion 
roused  in  the  great  reformers  a  demand  for  a  change  in 
religion  itself.  Not  sacrifices  but  justice  is  the  need  of 
the  hour  and  the  demand  of  God. 


§  2.    RELIGIOUS    AGENCIES 

The  interaction  between  the  religious  and  the  moral 
education  of  the  Hebrews  was  so  intimate  that  it  is  difficult 
to  distinguish  the  two,  but  we  may  abstract  certain  con- 
ceptions or  motives  in  Israel's  religion  which  were  espe- 
cially significant.  The  general  conception  was  that  of 
the  close  personal  relation  between  god  and  people.  Israel 
should  have  no  other  god;  Jehovah — at  least  this  was  the 
earlier  thought — would  have  no  other  people.  He  had 
loved  and  chosen  Israel;  Israel  in  gratitude,  as  well  as 
in  hope  and  fear,  must  love  and  obey  Jehovah.  Priests 
maintained  his  cultus ;  prophets  brought  new  commands 
according  to  the  requirements  of  the  hour ;  the  king  rep- 
resented his  sovereignty  and  justice;  the  course  of  events 
exhibited  his  purpose.  Each  of  these  elements  served  to 
provoke  or  elicit  moral  reflection  or  moral  conduct. 

I.  The  "Covenant"  Relation  was  a  Moral  Conception. 
— The  usual  religious  conception  is  that  of  some  blood 
or  kin  relation  between  people  and  deity.  This  has  the 
same  potential  meaning  and  value  as  that  of  the  other 
relations  of  group  life  outlined  in  Chapter  II.     But  it  is 


RELIGIOUS  AGENCIES  95 

rather  a  natural  than  a  "moral" — i.e.,  conscious  and 
voluntary — tie.  To  conceive  of  the  relation  between  god 
and  people  as  due  to  voluntary  choice,  is  to  introduce 
a  powerful  agency  toward  making  morality  conscious. 
Whatever  the  origin  of  the  idea,  the  significant  fact  is 
that  the  religious  and  moral  leaders  present  the  relation 
of  Israel  to  Jehovah  as  based  on  a  covenant.  On  the 
one  hand,  Jehovah  protects,  preserves,  and  prospers ;  on 
the  other,  Israel  is  to  obey  his  laws  and  serve  no  other 
gods.  This  conception  of  mutual  obligation  is  presented 
at  the  opening  of  the  "Ten  Commandments,"  and  to  this 
covenant  relation  the  prophets  again  and  again  make 
appeal.  The  obligation  to  obey  the  law  is  not  "This  is 
the  custom,"  or  "Our  fathers  did  so" ;  it  is  placed  on  the 
ground  that  the  people  has  voluntarily  accepted  Jehovah 
as  its  god  and  lawgiver. 

The  meaning  of  this  covenant  and  the  symbols  by  which 
it  was  conceived,  changed  with  the  advance  of  the  social 
relationships  of  the  people.  At  first  Jehovah  was  "Lord 
of  Hosts,"  protector  in  war,  and  giver  of  prosperity, 
and  the  early  conceptions  of  the  duty  of  the  people  seemed 
to  include  human  sacrifice,  at  least  in  extreme  cases.  But 
with  later  prophets  we  find  the  social  and  family  rela- 
tionship of  husband  and  father  brought  increasingly  into 
use.  Whether  by  personal  experience  or  by  more  general 
reflection,  we  find  Hosea  interpreting  the  relationship 
between  God  and  his  people  in  both  of  these  family  con- 
ceptions. The  disloyalty  of  the  people  takes  on  the  more 
intimate  taint  of  a  wife's  unfaithfulness,  and,  conversely, 
in  contrast  to  the  concepts  of  other  religions,  the  people 
may  call  Jehovah  "my  husband"  and  no  longer  "my 
master"  (Baal).  The  change  from  status  to  contract  is 
thus,  in  Israel's  religion,  fruitful  with  many  moral  results, 

2.  The  Conception  of  a  Personal  Lawgiver. — The  con- 
ception of  a  personal  lawgiver  raises  conduct  from  the 
level  of  custom  to  the  level  of  conscious  morality.     So 


96     THE  HEBREW  MORAL  DEVELOPMENT 

long  as  a  child  follows  certain  ways  by  imitation  or  sug- 
gestion, he  does  not  necessarily  attach  any  moral  mean- 
ing to  them.  But  if  the  parent  expressly  commands  or 
prohibits,  it  becomes  a  matter  of  obedience  or  disobedi- 
ence. Choice  becomes  necessary.  Character  takes  the 
place  of  innocence.  So  Jehovah's  law  compelled  obedience 
or  rebellion.  Customs  were  either  forbidden  or  enjoined. 
In  either  case  they  ceased  to  be  riierely  customs.  In  the 
law  of  Israel  the  whole  body  of  observances  in  private 
life,  in  ceremonial,  and  in  legal  forms,  is  introduced  with 
a  "Thus  saith  the  Lord."  We  know  that  other  Semitic 
people  observed  the  Sabbath,  practiced  circumcision,  dis- 
tinguished clean  from  unclean  beasts,  and  respected  the 
taboos  of  birth  and  death.  Whether  in  Israel  all  these  ob- 
servances were  old  customs  given  new  authority  by  statute, 
or  were  customs  taken  from  other  peoples  under  the  author- 
ity of  the  laws  of  Jehovah,  is  immaterial.  The  ethical  sig- 
nificance of  the  law  is  that  these  various  observances,  in- 
stead of  being  treated  merely  as  customs,  are  regarded  as 
personal  commands  of  a  personal  deity. 

This  makes  a  vital  difference  in  the  view  taken  of  the  vio- 
lation of  these  observances.  When  a  man  violates  a  custom 
he  fails  to  do  the  correct  thing.  He  misses  the  mark.^ 
But  when  the  observance  is  a  personal  command,  its  viola- 
tion is  a  personal  disobedience;  it  is  rebellion;  it  is  an  act 
of  will.  The  evil  which  follows  is  no  longer  bad  luck;  it 
is  punishment.  Now  punishment  must  be  either  right 
or  wrong,  moral  or  immoral.  It  can  never  be  merely  non- 
moral.  Hence  the  very  conception  of  sin  as  a  personal 
offense,  and  of  ill  as  a  personal  punishment,  forces  a  moral 
standard.  In  its  crudest  form  this  may  take  the  god's 
commands  as  right  simply  because  he  utters  them,  and 
assume  that  the  sufferer  is  guilty  merely  because  he  suffers. 
We  find  this  in  the  penitential  psalms  of  the  Babylonians. 
These  express  the  deepest  conviction  of  sin  and  the  utmost 

*  The  Hebrew  and  Greek  words  for  sin  both  mean  "to  miss." 


RELIGIOUS  AGENCIES  97 

desire  to  please  the  god,  but  when  we  try  to  discover 
what  the  penitent  has  done  that  wakens  such  remorse 
within  him,  we  find  that  he  seems  merely  to  feel  that  in 
some  way  he  has  failed  to  please  God,  no  matter  how.  Pie 
experiences  misfortune,  whether  of  disease,  or  ill-luck,  or 
defeat,  and  is  sure  that  this  must  be  due  to  some  offense. 
He  does  not  know  what  this  may  be.  It  may  have  been 
that  he  has  failed  to  repeat  a  formula  in  the  right  man- 
ner; it  is  all  one.  He  feels  guilty  and  even  exaggerates 
his  own  guilt  in  view  of  the  punishment  which  has  befallen 
him.     Job's  three  friends  apply  the  same  logic  to  his  case.^ 

But  side  by  side  with  the  conception  that  the  laws  of 
Jehovah  must  be  obeyed  because  they  were  his  commands, 
there  was  another  doctrine  which  was  but  an  extension  of 
the  theory  that  the  people  had  freely  accepted  their  ruler. 
This  was  that  Jehovah's  commands  were  not  arbitrary. 
They  were  right;  they  could  be  placed  before  the  people 
for  their  approval;  they  were  "life";  "the  judge  of  all 
the  earth"  would  "do  right."  We  have  here  a  striking 
illustration  of  the  principle  that  moral  standards,  at  first 
embodied  in  persons,  slowly  work  free,  so  that  persons  are 
judged  by  them. 

3.  The  Cultus  as  Morally  Symbolical. — The  elaborate 
cultus  carried  on  by  the  priests,  symbolized,  however 
imperfectly,  certain  moral  ideas.  The  solicitous  care  for 
ceremonial  "purity"  might  have  no  direct  moral  value; 
the  contamination  from  contact  with  birth  or  death  or 
certain   animals   might  be  a  very   external  sort   of  "un- 

*  The  general  function  of  punishment  as  bringing  home  to  the  indi- 
vidual the  consciousness  of  guilt  and  thus  awakening  the  action  of 
conscience,  has  an  illustration  in  Shakespere's  conception  of  the 
prayer  of  Henry  Vth  before  the  battle  of  Agincourt.  In  ordinary 
life  the  bluff  King  Harry  devotes  little  time  to  meditation  upon 
his  own  sin  or  that  of  his  father,  but  on  the  eve  of  possible  calamity 
the  old  crime  rises  fresh  before  him.  Stimulated  by  the  thought  of 
an  actual  penalty  to  be  imposed  by  a  recognized  authority,  he  cried: 
"Not  to-day,  O  Lord!  Oh,  not  to-day!  Think  not  upon  the  fault 
my  father  made  in  compassing  the  crown." 


98     THE  HEBREW  MORAL  DEVELOPMENT 

cleanness."  Nevertheless,  thej  emphasized  in  the  most 
forcible  manner  a  constant  control  over  conduct  by  a 
standard  which  was  set  by  a  divine  law.  The  "holiness" 
of  the  priests,  as  set  apart  to  special  service  of  Jehovah, 
emphasized  the  seriousness  of  their  work;  and  further, 
it  contributed  to  that  distinction  between  spiritual  and 
material,  between  higher  and  lower,  which  is  a  part  of 
moral  life.  Moreover,  while  part  of  this  value  inheres  in 
all  ritual,  the  contrast  between  Jehovah's  worship  and 
that  of  other  deities  challenged  moral  attention.  The  gods 
of  the  land,  the  various  Baals,  were  worshipped  "upon 
every  high  hill  and  under  every  green  tree."  As  gods 
of  fertility,  they  were  symbolized  by  the  emblems  of  sex, 
and  great  freedom  prevailed  at  their  festivals.  At  cer- 
tain shrines  men  and  women  gave  themselves  for  the  service 
of  the  god.  The  first  born  children  were  not  infrequently 
sacrificed.^  These  festivals  and  shrines  seem  to  have  been 
adopted  more  or  less  fully  by  Israel  from  the  Canaanites, 
but  the  prophets  have  an  utterly  different  idea  of  Jeho- 
vah's worship.  The  god  of  Sinai  rejects  utterly  such 
practices.  License  and  drunkenness  are  not,  as  the  cultus 
of  Baal  and  Astarte  implied,  the  proper  symbols  of  life 
and  deity.  The  sensual  cannot  fitly  symbolize  the  spiritual. 
Moreover,  one  part  of  the  cultus,  the  "sin  offering," 
directly  implied  transgression  and  the  need  of  forgiveness. 
The  "sins"  might  themselves  be  ceremonial  rather  than 
moral,  and  the  method  of  removing  them  might  be  ex- 
ternal— especially  the  process  of  putting  the  sins  upon 
a  scapegoat  which  should  "bear  upon  him  all  their  iniqui- 
ties into  a  solitary  land," — nevertheless,  the  solemn  con- 
fession, and  the  shedding  of  the  blood  which  was  the 
"life,"  could  not  but  remind  of  responsibility  and  deepen 
reflection.  The  need  of  atonement  and  reconciliation,  thus 
impressed,  symbolized  the  moral  process  of  reconstructing, 

*  Recent    excavations    are   held    to    confirm    the    prophets    on    this 
(Marti,  Religion  of  the  Old  Testament,  pp.  78  ff.). 


RELIGIOUS  AGENCIES  99 

of  putting  away  a  lower  past,  and  readjusting  life  to 
meet  an  ideal. 

4.  The  Prophets  as  a  Moral  Force. — The  prophets 
were  by  far  the  most  significant  moral  agency  in  Israel's 
religion.  In  the  first  place,  they  came  to  the  people 
bearing  a  message  from  a  living  source  of  authority,  in- 
tended for  the  immediate  situation.  They  brought  a  pres- 
ent command  for  a  present  duty.  "Thou  art  the  man," 
of  Nathan  to  David,  "Hast  thou  killed,  and  also  taken 
possession.?"  of  Elijah  to  Ahab,  had  personal  occasions. 
But  the  great  sermons  of  Amos,  Isaiah,  Jeremiah,  were 
no  less  for  the  hour.  A  licentious  festival,  an  Assyrian 
invasion,  an  Egyptian  embassy,  a  plague  of  locusts,  an 
impending  captivity — these  inspire  demand  for  repent- 
ance, warnings  of  destruction,  promises  of  salvation.  The 
prophet  was  thus  the  "living  fountain."  The  divine  will 
as  coming  through  him  "was  still,  so  to  speak,  fluid,  and 
not  congealed  into  institutions." 

In  the  second  place,  the  prophets  seized  upon  the  inward 
purpose  and  social  conduct  of  man  as  the  all-important 
issues;  cultus,  sacrifice,  are  unimportant.  "I  hate,  I  de- 
spise your  feasts,  and  I  will  take  no  delight  in  your 
solemn  assemblies,"  cries  Amos  in  Jehovah's  name,  "But 
let  justice  roll  down  as  waters  and  righteousness  as  a 
mighty  stream."  "I  have  had  enough  of  the  burnt  offer- 
ings of  rams,  and  the  fat  of  fed  beasts,"  proclaims  Isaiah, 
"new  moons,  and  sabbaths,  the  calling  of  assemblies, — I 
cannot  away  with  iniquity  and  the  solemn  meeting."  You 
need  not  ceremonial,  but  moral,  purity.  "Wash  you,  make 
you  clean;  put  away  the  evil  of  your  doings; — seek  jus- 
tice, relieve  the  oppressed,  judge  the  fatherless,  plead 
for  the  widow."  Micah's  "Shall  I  give  my  first-born  for 
my  transgression,  the  fruit  of  my  body  for  the  sin  of  my 
soul?"  seized  upon  the  difference  once  for  all  between  the 
physical  and  the  moral;  a  completely  ethical  standpoint 
is  gained  in  his  summary  of  religious  duty:   "What  doth 


100     THE  HEBREW  MORAL  DEVELOPMENT 

God  require  of  thee,  but  to  do  justly,  and  to  love  mercy, 
and  to  walk  humbly  with  thy  God?"  And  the  New  Testa- 
ment analogue  marks  the  true  ethical  valuation  of  all  the 
external  religious  manifestations,  even  of  the  cruder  forms 
of  prophecy  itself.  Gifts,  mysteries,  knowledge,  or  the 
"body  to  be  burned" — there  is  a  more  excellent  way  than 
these.  For  all  these  are  "in  part."  Their  value  is  but 
temporary  and  relative.  The  values  that  abide,  that  stand 
criticism,  are  that  staking  of  oneself  upon  the  truth  and 
worth  of  one's  ideal  which  is  faith;  that  aspiration  and 
forward  look  which  is  hope ;  that  sum  of  all  social  charity, 
sympathy,  justice,  and  active  helpfulness,  which  is  love. 
"But  the  greatest  of  these  is  love." 

5.  The  Religious  View  of  the  Kingdom  Gave  the 
Setting  for  a  Social  Ideal. — Jehovah  was  the  king  of 
his  people.  The  human  ruler  in  Jerusalem  was  his  repre- 
sentative. The  kingdom  of  Israel  was  under  divine  care 
and  had  on  the  other  hand  a  serious  purpose.  The  ex- 
pansion and  glory  of  the  kingdom  under  Solomon  showed 
the  divine  favor.  Division  and  calamity  were  not  mere 
misfortunes,  or  the  victory  of  greater  armies ;  they  were 
divine  rebukes.  Only  in  righteousness  and  justice  could 
the  nation  survive.  On  the  other  hand,  the  confidence  in 
Jehovah's  love  for  Israel  guaranteed  that  he  would  never 
forsake  his  people.  He  would  purify  them  and  redeem 
them  even  from  the  grave.  He  would  establish  a  kingdom 
of  law  and  peace,  "an  everlasting  kingdom  that  should 
not  be  destroyed."     Politics  in  Israel  had  a  moral  goal. 

6.  Religion  Gave  the  Problem  of  Evil  a  Moral  Sig- 
nificance.— The  Greek  treatment  of  the  problem  of  evil 
is  found  in  the  great  tragedies.  An  ancestral  curse  fol- 
lows down  successive  generations,  dealing  woe  to  all  the 
unhappy  house.  For  the  victims  there  seems  to  be  noth- 
ing but  to  suffer.  The  necessity  of  destiny  makes  the 
catastrophe  sublime,  but  also  hopeless.  Ibsen's  Ghosts 
is  conceived  in  a  similar  spirit.     There  is  a  tremendous 


RELIGIOUS  AGENCIEB'    ^       '"     lOl 

moral  lesson  in  it  for  the  fathers,  but  for  the  children 
only  horror.  The  Greek  and  the  Scandinavian  are  doubt- 
less interpreting  one  phase  of  human  life — its  continuity 
and  dependence  upon  cosmical  nature.  But  the  Hebrew 
was  not  content  with  this.  His  confidence  in  a  divine  gov- 
ernment of  the  world  forced  him  to  seek  some  moral  value, 
some  purpose  in  the  event.  The  search  led  along  one  path 
to  a  readjustment  of  values;  it  led  by  another  path  to  a 
new  view  of  social  interdependence. 

The  book  of  Job  gives  the  deepest  study  of  the  first 
of  these  problems.  The  old  view  had  been  that  virtue 
and  happiness  always  went  together.  Prosperity  meant 
divine  favor,  and  therefore  it  must  be  the  good.  Ad- 
versity meant  divine  punishment ;  it  showed  wrongdoing 
and  was  itself  an  evil.  When  calamity  comes  upon  Job,  his 
friends  assume  it  to  be  a  sure  proof  of  his  wickedness. 
He  had  himself  held  the  same  view,  and  since  he  refuses 
to  admit  his  wickedness  and  "holds  fast  to  his  integrity," 
it  confounds  all  his  philosophy  of  life  and  of  God.  It 
compels  a  "reversal  and  revaluation  of  all  values."  If 
he  could  only  meet  God  face  to  face  and  have  it  out 
with  him  he  believes  there  would  be  some  solution.  But 
come  what  may,  he  will  not  sell  his  soul  for  happiness. 
To  "repent,"  as  his  friends  urge,  in  order  that  he  may 
be  again  on  good  terms  with  God,  would  mean  for  him  to 
call  sin  what  he  believes  to  be  righteousness.  And  he  will 
not  lie  in  this  way.  God  is  doubtless  stronger,  and  if 
he  pursues  his  victim  relentlessly,  may  convict  him.  But 
be  this  as  it  may.  Job  will  not  let  go  his  fundamental 
consciousness  of  right  and  wrong.  His  "moral  self" 
is  the  one  anchor  that  holds,  is  the  supreme  value  of  life. 

"As  God  liveth,  who  hath  taken  away  my  right. 
And  the  Almighty  who  hath  vexed  my  soul; 
Surely  my  lips  shall  not  speak  unrighteousness. 
Till  I  die,  I  will  not  put  away  my  integrity  from  me. 
My  righteousness  I  hold  fast,  and  will  not  let  it  go."  * 

*Job  27:1-6. 


102     THE  HEBREW  MORAL  DEVELOPMENT 

Another  suggestion  of  the  book  is  that  evil  comes  to 
prove  man's  sincerity:  "Does  Job  serve  God  for  naught?" 
and  from  that  standpoint  the  answer  is,  Yes;  he  does. 
"There  is  a  disinterested  love  of  God."  ^  In  this  setting, 
also,  the  experience  of  suifering  produces  a  shifting  of 
values  from  the  extrinsic  to  the  internal. 

The  other  treatment  of  the  problem  of  suffering  is 
found  in  the  latter  half  of  Isaiah.  It  finds  an  interpreta- 
tion of  the  problem  by  a  deeper  view  of  social  interde- 
pendence, in  which  the  old  tribal  solidarity  is  given,  as  it 
[Were,  a  transfigured  meaning.  The  individualistic  inter- 
pretation of  suff*ering  was  that  it  meant  personal  guilt. 
"We  did  esteem  him  stricken  of  God."  This  breaks  down. 
The  suffering  servant  is  not  wicked.  He  is  suffering  for 
others — in  some  sense.  "He  hath  borne  our  griefs  and 
carried  our  sorrows."  The  conception  here  reached  of 
an  interrelation  which  involves  that  the  suffering  of  the 
good  may  be  due  to  the  sin  or  the  suffering  of  others, 
and  that  the  assumption  of  this  burden  marks  the  higher 
type  of  ethical  relation,  is  one  of  the  finest  products  of 
Israel's  religion.  As  made  central  in  the  Christian  con- 
ception of  the  Cross,  it  has  furnished  one  of  the  great  ele- 
ments in  the  modern  social  consciousness. 

§  3.    THE    MORAL    CONCEPTIONS    ATTAINED 

The  moral  conceptions  which  were  thus  worked  out  may 
now  be  brought  together  for  convenient  summary  under 
the  two  heads  of  the  "How"  and  the  "What"  indi- 
cated in  our  introductory  chapter.  Under  the  first  we 
specify  the  conceptions  resulting  (1)  from  recognition  of 
a  standard  of  right,  and  an  ideal  of  good,  (2)  from 
free  choice  of  this  ideal.  Under  the  What  we  indicate 
the  content  of  the  ideal  on  both  its  personal  and  its  social 
sides. 

*  Genung,  Job,  The  Epic  of  the  Inner  Life. 


THE  MORAL  CONCEPTIONS  ATTAINED     103 

I.  Righteousness  and  Sin. —  Righteousness  and  sin 
were  not  exact  or  contradictory  opposites.  The  righteous 
man  was  not  necessarily  sinless.  Nevertheless,  the  con- 
sciousness of  sin,  like  a  dark  background,  brought  out 
more  emphatically  the  conception  of  righteousness.  This 
conception  had  its  two  aspects,  derived  from  the  civil  and 
the  religious  spheres  of  life — spheres  which  were  not 
separate  for  the  Hebrew.  On  the  one  hand,  the  just  or 
righteous  respected  the  moral  order  in  human  society. 
The  unrighteous  was  unjust,  extortionate,  cruel.  He  did 
not  respect  the  rights  of  others.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  righteous  man  was  in  "right"  relation  to  God.  This 
right  relation  might  be  tested  by  the  divine  law;  but  as 
God  was  conceived  as  a  living  person,  loving  his  people, 
"forgiving  iniquity,  transgression,  and  sin,"  it  might 
also  be  measured  by  an  essential  harmony  of  spirit  with 
the  divine  will.  There  was  the  "righteousness  of  the  law," 
and  the  "righteousness  of  faith."  The  first  implies  com- 
plete obedience;  the  second  implies  that  in  spite  of  trans- 
gressions there  is  room  for  atonement^  or  reconciliation. 
As  the  first  means  ethically  the  testing  of  conduct  by  a 
moral  standard,  a  "moral  law,"  so  the  second  stands  for 
the  thought  that  character  is  rather  a  matter  of  spirit 
and  of  constant  reconstruction  than  of  exact  conformity 
once  for  all  to  a  hard  and  fast  rule.  Specific  acts  may 
fail  to  conform,  but  the  life  is  more  than  a  series  of  specific 
acts.  The  measurement  of  conduct  by  the  law  has  its 
value  to  quicken  a  sense  of  shortcoming,  but  alone  it  may 
also  lead  either  to  self-righteous  complacency  or  to  de- 
spair. The  possibility  of  new  adjustment,  of  renewal,  of 
"a  new  birth,"  means  liberation  and  life.  As  such  it  may 
be  contrasted  with  the  Buddhist  doctrine  of  Karma,  the 
causality  from  which  there  is  no  escape  but  by  the  ex- 
tinction of  desire. 

*  See  A  tonement  in  Literature  and  in  Life,  by  Charles  A.  Dinsmore, 
Boston,   1906. 


104     THE  HEBREW  MORAL  DEVELOPMENT 

"Sin"  had  likewise  its  various  aspects.  It  stood  for 
missing  the  mark,  for  violating  the  rules  of  clean  and  un- 
clean ;  but  it  stood  also  for  personal  disobedience  to  the 
divine  will,  for  violation  of  the  moral  order  of  Israel.  In 
this  latter  sense,  as  identified  by  the  prophets  with  social 
unrighteousness,  it  is  a  significant  ethical  conception.  It 
brings  out  the  point  that  evil  and  wrongdoing  are  not 
merely  individual  matters,  not  merely  failures ;  they  offend 
against  a  law  which  is  above  the  private  self,  against  a 
moral  order  which  has  its  rightful  demands  upon  us. 

2.  Personal  Responsibility. — The  transition  from  group 
to  individual  responsibility  was  thoroughly  worked  out  by 
the  prophets,  even  if  they  were  not  able  to  carry  full  popular 
assent.  In  early  days  the  whole  kin  was  treated  as  guilty 
for  the  offense  of  the  kinsman.  Achan's  case  has  already 
been  cited ;  and  in  the  case  of  Korah,  Dathan,  and  Abiram, 
"Their  wives  and  their  sons  and  their  little  ones"  were 
all  treated  alike.^  In  like  manner,  the  family  of  the 
righteous  man  shared  in  the  divine  favor.  The  later 
prophets  pronounced  a  radical  change.  The  proverb, 
"The  fathers  have  eaten  sour  grapes  and  the  children's 
teeth  are  set  on  edge,"  is  no  more  to  be  used,  declares 
Ezekiel,  speaking  for  Jehovah.  "The  soul  that  sinneth,  it 
shall  die ;  the  son  shall  not  bear  the  iniquity  of  the  father, 
neither  shall  the  father  bear  the  iniquity  of  the  son ;" 
and  it  is  especially  interesting  to  note  that  the  Lord  is 
represented  as  pleading  with  the  people  that  this  is  fair, 
while  the  people  say,  "Wherefore  doth  not  the  son  bear 
the  iniquity  of  the  father.'^"  The  solidarity  of  the  family 
resisted  the  individualism  of  the  prophetic  conception,  and 
five  hundred  years  after  Ezekiel  the  traces  of  the  older 
conception  still  lingered  in  the  question,  "Who  did  sin, 
this  man  or  his  parents,  that  he  was  born  blind  ?"  ^  For 
another  aspect  of  responsibility,  viz.,  intent,  as  distinct 

*  Numbers  16,  Joshua  7, 
'John  9:^, 


THE  MORAL  CONCEPTIONS  ATTAINED     105 

from  accidental  action/  we  have  certain  transitional  steps 
shown  in  the  interesting  "cities  of  refuge"  ^  for  the  acci- 
dental homicide  in  which  he  might  be  safe  from  the 
avenger  of  blood,  provided  he  was  swift  enough  of  foot  to 
reach  a  city  of  refuge  before  he  was  caught.  But  the  full- 
est development  in  the  ethics  of  responsibility  along  this 
line  seemed  to  take  the  form  described  under  the  next  head. 
3.  Sincerity,  and  Purity  of  Motive. — The  Hebrew  had 
a  philosophy  of  conduct  which  made  it  chiefly  a  matter 
of  "wisdom"  and  "folly,"  but  the  favorite  term  of  prophet 
and  psalmist  to  symbolize  the  central  principle  was  rather 
"the  heart."  This  term  stood  for  the  voluntary  disposi- 
tion, especially  in  its  inner  springs  of  emotions  and  senti- 
ments, affections  and  passions.  The  Greek  was  inclined 
to  look  askance  at  this  side  of  life,  to  regard  the  emotions 
as  perturbations  of  the  soul,  and  to  seek  their  control 
by  reason,  or  even  their  repression  or  elimination.  The 
Hebrew  found  a  more  positive  value  in  the  emotional  side 
of  conduct,  and  at  the  same  time  worked  out  the  con- 
ception of  a  sincere  and  thoroughgoing  interest  as  lying 
at  the  very  root  of  all  right  life.  The  religious  in- 
fluence was  as  elsewhere  the  important  agency.  "Man 
looketh  on  the  outward  appearance,  but  Jehovah  looketh 
on  the  heart,"  "If  I  regard  iniquity  in  my  heart,  Jehovah 
will  not  hear  me,"  are  characteristic  expressions.  A  divine 
vision,  which  penetrates  to  the  deepest  springs  of  purpose 
and  feeling,  will  not  tolerate  pretense.  Nor  will  it  be  sat- 
isfied with  anything  less  than  entire  devotion:  the  Israel- 
ite must  serve  Jehovah  with  all  his  heart.      Outer  con- 

*  Hammurabi's  code  showed  a  disregard  of  intent  which  would 
make  surgery  a  dangerous  profession:  "If  a  physician  operate  on  a 
man  for  a  severe  wound  with  a  bronze  lancet  and  cause  the  man's 
death;  or  open  an  abscess  [in  the  eye]  of  a  man  with  a  bronze  lan- 
cet and  destroy  the  man's  eye,  they  shall  cut  oif  his  fingers."  Early 
German  and  English  law  is  just  as  naive.  If  a  weapon  was  left  to  be 
repaired  at  a  smith's  and  was  then  caught  up  or  stolen  and  used 
to  do  harm,  the  original  owner  was  held  responsible, 

'  Numbers  35,  Deuteronomy  19,  Joshua  20. 


106     THE  HEBREW  MORAL  DEVELOPMENT 

formity  is  not  enough:  "Rend  your  heart  and  not  your 
garments."  It  is  the  "pure  in  heart"  who  have  the 
beatific  vision.  Not  external  contacts,  or  ceremonial 
"uncleanness,"  on  which  earlier  ritual  had  insisted,  defile 
the  man,  but  rather  what  proceeds  from  the  heart.  For 
the  heart  is  the  source  of  evil  thoughts  and  evil  deeds.^ 
And  conversely,  the  interests,  the  emotions,  and  enthusi- 
asms which  make  up  the  man's  deepest  self  do  not  spring 
forth  in  a  vacuum;  they  go  with  the  steadfast  purpose 
and  bent,  with  the  self  of  achievement.  "Where  your 
treasure  is,  there  will  your  heart  be  also." 

Purity  of  motive  in  a  full  moral  consciousness  means 
not  only  (formal)  sincerity,  but  sincere  love  of  good 
and  right.  This  was  not  stated  by  the  Hebrew  in  abstract 
terms,  but  in  the  personal  language  of  love  to  God.  In 
early  days  there  had  been  more  or  less  of  external  mo- 
tives in  the  appeals  of  the  law  and  the  prophets.  Fear 
of  punishment,  hope  of  reward,  blessings  in  basket  and 
store,  curses  in  land  and  field,  were  used  to  induce  fidelity. 
But  some  of  the  prophets  sought  a  deeper  view,  which 
seems  to  have  been  reached  in  the  bitterness  of  human 
experience.  Hosea's  wife  had  forsaken  him,  and  should  not 
the  love  of  people  to  Jehovah  be  as  personal  and  sincere 
as  that  of  wife  to  husband?  She  had  said,  "I  will  go 
after  my  lovers  that  give  me  my  bread  and  my  water ^  my 
wood  and  my  f.ax,  my  oil  and  my  drink.'*  ^  Is  not  serv- 
ing God  for  hire  a  form  of  prostitution.?^  The  calami- 
ties of  the  nation  tested  the  disinterestedness  of  its  fidelity. 
They  were  the  challenge  of  the  Adversary,  "Doth  Job 
fear  God  for  naught?"  And  a  remnant  at  least  attested 
that  fidelity  did  not  depend  on  rewards.  The  moral  maxim 
that  virtue  is  its  own  reward  is  put  in  personal  terms 
by  the  prophet  after  the  exile: 

*  Mark  7: 1-23. 

•  Hosea  2:5. 

»  H.  P.  Smith,  Old  Testament  History,  p.  222, 


THE  MORAL  CONCEPTIONS  ATTAINED     lOT 

"For  though  the  fig  tree  shall  not  blossom,  neither  shall 
fruit  be  in  the  vines;  the  labor  of  the  olive  shall  fail,  and  the 
fields  shall  yield  no  meat;  the  flock  shall  be  cut  off  from  the 
fold,  and  there  shall  be  no  herd  in  the  stalls:  Yet  I  will 
rejoice  in  the  Lord,  I  will  joy  in  the  God  of  my  salvation."  ^ 

4.  The  Conception  of  "Life"  as  an  Ideal. — The  con- 
tent of  Israel's  moral  ideal  on  its  individual  side  was 
expressed  by  the  term  "Life."  All  the  blessings  that  the 
leader  of  Israel  could  offer  his  people  were  summarized 
in  the  phrase,  "I  have  set  before  you  life  and  death; 
wherefore  choose  life."  The  same  final  standard  of  value 
appears  in  the  question  of  Jesus,  "What  shall  it  profit 
a  man  to  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own  life.'^" 
When  we  inquire  what  life  meant,  so  far  as  the  early 
sources  give  us  data  for  judgment,  we  must  infer  it 
to  have  been  measured  largely  in  terms  of  material  com- 
fort and  prosperity,  accompanied  by  the  satisfaction  of 
standing  in  right  relations  to  the  god  and  ruler.  This 
latter  element  was  so  closely  united  with  the  first  that 
it  was  practically  identical  with  it.  If  the  people  were 
prosperous  they  might  assume  that  they  were  right ;  if 
they  suffered  they  were  surely  wrong.  Good  and  evil 
were,  therefore,  in  this  stage,  measured  largely  in  terms 
of  pleasure  and  pain.  The  end  to  be  sought  and  the  ideal 
to  be  kept  in  mind  was  that  of  long  and  prosperous  life 
— "in  her  right  hand  length  of  days,  in  her  left  hand 
riches  and  honor."  Intellectual  and  aesthetic  interests 
were  not  prized  as  such.  The  knowledge  which  was 
valued  was  the  wisdom  for  the  conduct  of  life,  of  which 
the  beginning  and  crown  was  "the  fear  of  the  Lord." 
The  art  which  was  valued  was  sacred  song  or  poetry. 
But  the  ideal  values  which  came  to  bulk  most  in  the  ex- 
panding conception  of  "life"  were  those  of  personal  rela- 
tion. Family  ties,  always  strong  among  Oriental  peoples, 
gained  in  purity.  Love  between  the  sexes  was  refined  and 
^Habakkuk3:17,  18. 


108     THE  HEBREW  MORAL  DEVELOPMENT 

idealized/  National  feeling  took  on  added  dignity,  be- 
cause of  the  consciousness  of  a  divine  mission.  Above  all, 
personal  union  with  God,  as  voiced  in  the  psalms  and 
prophets,  became  the  desire.  He,  and  not  his  gifts,  was 
the  supreme  good.  He  was  the  "fountain  of  life."  His 
likeness  would  satisfy.  In  his  light  the  faithful  would 
see   light. 

But  even  more  significant  than  any  specific  content  put 
into  the  term  "life,"  was  what  was  involved  in  the  idea 
itself.  The  legalists  had  attempted  to  define  conduct 
by  a  code,  but  there  was  an  inherent  vitality  in  the  ideal 
of  life,  which  refused  to  be  measured  or  bounded.  The 
"words  of  eternal  life,"  which  began  the  new  moral  move- 
ment of  Christianity,  had  perhaps  little  definite  content 
to  the  fishermen,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  say  just  what  they 
meant  in  moral  terms  to  the  writer  of  the  Fourth  Gospel 
who  uses  the  phrase  so  often.  With  Paul,  life  as  the  realm 
of  the  spirit  gets  definition  as  it  stands  over  against 
the  "death"  of  sin  and  lust.  But  with  all  writers  of  Old 
or  New  Testament,  whatever  content  it  had,  life  meant 
above  all  the  suggestion  of  something  beyond,  the  gleam 
and  dynamic  power  of  a  future  not  yet  understood.  It 
meant  to  Paul  a  progress  which  was  governed  not  by 
law  or  "rudiments,"  but  by  freedom.  Such  a  life  would 
set  itself  new  and  higher  standards ;  the  laws  and  customs 
that  had  obtained  were  felt  to  be  outgrown.  The  signifi- 
cance of  early  Christianity  as  a  moral  movement,  aside 
from  its  elements  of  personal  devotion  and  social  unity  to 
be  noticed  below,  was  the  spirit  of  movement,  the  sense  of 
newly  forming  horizons  beyond  the  old,  the  conviction 
that  as  sons  of  God  its  followers  had  boundless  possibili- 
ties, that  they  were  not  the  children  of  the  bond  woman, 
but  of  the  free. 

5.  The  Social  Ideal  of  Justice,  Love,  and  Peace. — 
We  have  seen  how  this  ideal  was  framed  in  the  setting  of 
*  The  Song  of  Songs. 


THE  MORAL  CONCEPTIONS  ATTAINED     109 

a  kingdom  of  God.  At  first  national,  it  became  universal, 
and  with  a  fraternity  which  the  world  is  far  from  having 
realized,  it  was  to  know  "neither  Jew  nor  Greek,  bond  nor 
free."  At  first  military,  it  took  on  with  seer  and  psalmist 
the  form  of  a  reign  of  peace  and  justice.  After  the  fierce 
and  crude  powers  typified  by  the  lion  and  the  bear  and 
the  leopard  had  passed,  the  seer  saw  a  kingdom  repre- 
sented by  a  human  form.  Such  a  kingdom  it  was  that 
should  not  pass  away.  Such  was  the  kingdom  "not  of  this 
world"  which  Jesus  presented  as  his  message.  Member- 
ship in  this  moral  kingdom  was  for  the  poor  in  spirit, 
the  pure  in  heart,  the  merciful,  the  peace-makers,  the 
hungerers  after  righteousness.  Greatness  in  this  moral 
community  was  to  depend  on  service,  not  on  power.  The 
king  should  not  fail  till  he  had  "set  justice  in  the  earth." 
He  should  "deliver  the  needy,  and  the  poor." 

Certain  features  of  this  ideal  order  have  since  found 
embodiment  in  social  and  political  structures;  certain 
features  remain  for  the  future.  Certain  periods  in  history 
have  transferred  the  ideal  entirely  to  another  world,  re- 
garding human  society  as  hopelessly  given  over  to  evil. 
Such  theories  find  a  morality  possible  only  by  renouncing 
society.  The  Hebrews  presented  rather  the  ideal  of  a 
moral  order  on  earth,  of  a  control  of  all  life  by  right,  of 
a  realization  of  good,  and  of  a  completeness  of  life.  It 
was  an  ideal  not  dreamed  out  in  ecstatic  visions  of  pure 
fancy,  but  worked  out  in  struggle  and  suffering,  in  con- 
fidence that  moral  efforts  are  not  hopeless  or  destined  to 
defeat.  The  ideal  order  is  to  be  made  real.  The  divine 
kingdom  is  to  come,  the  divine  will  to  be  done  "ow  earth 
as  it  is  in  heaven." 

LITERATURE 

The  works  of  W.  R.  Smith  (Religion  of  the  Semites)  and  Barton 
(A  Sketch  of  Semitic  Origins)  already  mentioned.  Schultz,  Old 
Testament   Theology,  tr.   1892;   Marti,  Religion  of   the   Old   Testor 


110     THE  HEBREW  MORAL  DEVELOPMENT 

ment,  tr.  1907;  Budde,  Religion  of  the  Old  Testament  to  the  Exile, 
1899;  H.  P.  Smith,  Old  Testament  History,  1903;  W.  R.  Smith,  The 
Prophets  of  Israel,  1895;  Bruce,  Ethics  of  the  Old  Testament,  1895; 
Peake,  Problem  of  Suffering  in  the  Old  Testament,  1904;  Royce,  The 
Problem  of  Job  in  Studies  of  Good  and  Evil,  1898;  Pratt,  The 
Psychology  of  Religious  Belief,  1907,  ch.  v.;  Harnack,  What  is 
Christianity?  tr.  1901;  Cone,  Rich  and  Poor  in  the  New  Testament, 
1902;  Pfleiderer,  Primitive  Christianity,  tr.  1906;  Matthews,  The 
Social  Teaching  of  Jesus,  1897;  Wendt,  The  Teaching  of  Jesus,  1899; 
Pfleiderer,  Paulinism,  1891;  Cone,  Paul,  The  Man,  the  Missionary, 
and  the  Teacher,  1898;  Beyschlag,  New  Testament  Theology,  tr.  1895; 
The  Encyclopedia  Biblica,  The  Jewish  Encyclopedia,  and  Hastings' 
Dictionary,  have  numerous  valuable  articles. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 


n. 


THE    FUNDAMENTAL    NOTES 


Convention  versus  Nature. — The  Hebrew  moral  life 
was  developed  under  the  relation,  first  of  the  people,  then 
of  the  individuals,  to  God, — a  relation  at  once  of  union 
and  of  conflict.  It  was  out  of  the  relation  of  the  indi- 
vidual to  social  traditions  and  political  order  that  the 
Greek  came  to  full  consciousness  of  moral  law  on  the 
one  hand,  and  a  moral  personality  on  the  other.  And 
just  as  in  Jewish  life  the  law  and  the  prophets  (or, 
later,  the  "law  and  the  gospel")  stood  for  the  conflicting 
forces,  so  in  Greek  life  the  opposition  between  the  author- 
ity of  the  group,  embodied  in  custom  and  institutions,  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  urging  claims  of  developing  per- 
sonality, manifest  in  both  intelligence  and  desire,  on  the 
other,  found  expression  in  contrasted  terms.  The  authority 
of  the  group  embodied  in  customs  and  institutions,  came 
to  be  regarded  by  the  radicals  as  relatively  external,  arti- 
ficial, and  rigid.  It  was  dubbed  "convention,"  or  "insti- 
tution" {thesis,  what  is  set  up).  The  rapidly  developing 
intelligence  challenged  the  merely  customary  and  tradi- 
tional ;  the  increasing  individuality  challenged  the  superior 
authority  of  the  group,  especially  when  this  manifested 
itself  apparently  in  a  government  of  force.  Personal 
intelligence  and  personal  feeling  asserted  a  more  elemental 
claim,  felt  themselves  rooted  in  a  more  original  source, 
and  called  this  source  "nature"  (physis).  Social  tradi- 
tion and  authority,  individual  reason   and  feeling,  thus 

111 


112     MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

confronted  each  other  as  "convention"  and  "nature."  It 
was  a  struggle  which  has  its  analogy  in  the  development  of 
many  a  young  man  or  young  woman  who  is  emerging  from 
parental  control  to  self-direction.  But  in  Greek  life  more 
distinctly  than  elsewhere  we  see  the  steps  of  the  process 
as  a  civic  and  not  merely  an  individual  development, 
.^schylus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides  presented  this  con- 
flict of  the  individual  with  law  or  destiny  as  the  great, 
oft-repeated  tragedy  of  human  life.  Aristophanes  mocked 
with  bitter  satire  the  "new"  views.  Socrates,  Plato,  Aris- 
totle, Cynics,  Cyrenaics,  Epicureans,  and  Stoics  took  part 
in  the  theoretical  discussions. 

Measure. — The  fundamental  note  of  all  Greek  life, 
before,  during,  and  after  this  development,  was  Measure, 
Order,  Proportion,  This  note  found  expression  in  reli- 
gion, science,  art,  and  conduct.  Among  their  gods,  the 
Greeks  set  Moira,  "Destiny,"  and  Themis,  "Custom," 
"Law,"  "Right."  They  found  order  in  the  universe, 
which  on  this  account  they  called  the  "cosmos."  They 
expressed  it  in  their  arts,  especially  in  architecture,  sculp- 
ture, the  choral  dance,  and  the  more  highly  developed 
tragedy  or  lyric: 

"And  all  life  is  full  of  them  [of  form  and  measure]/*  says 
Plato,  "as  well  as  every  constructive  and  creative  art.  And 
surely  the  art  of  the  painter  and  every  other  creative  and  con- 
structive art  are  full  of  them, — weaving,  embroidery,  architec- 
ture, and  every  kind  of  manufacture;  also  nature,  animal  and 
vegetable, — in  all  of  them  there  is  grace  or  the  absence  of 
grace ;  and  if  our  youth  are  to  do  their  work  in  life,  must  they 
not  make  these  graces  and  harmonies  their  perpetual  aim.^** 

The  best  people,  the  "gentlemen,"  were  styled  kaloika- 
gathoi — "fair  and  good."  The  motto  at  the  Delphic 
shrine  was,  "Nothing  in  excess."  Insolent  disregard  of 
propriety,  "hybris,"  was  the  quality  most  denounced  by  the 
early  moralizing  poets.  Tityus,  Tantalus,  and  Sisyphus, 
the  three  special  subjects  of  divine  punishment,  suffered  the 


THE  FUNDAMENTAL  NOTES  113 

penalty  of  insatiate  desire,  or  limits  overstepped.  And 
after  criticism  and  individualism  had  done  their  work, 
Plato's  conception  of  justice,  Aristotle's  doctrine  of  the 
"mean,"  the  Stoic  maxim  of  "life  according  to  nature," 
have  but  discovered  a  deeper  significance  for  the  funda- 
mental law  of  Greek  life. 

The  Good  and  the  Just. — The  conceptions  of  the  Good 
and  the  Just  are  developed  from  the  two  notes  just  pre- 
sented. The  motive  for  challenge  to  established  institu- 
tions was  the  awakening  desire  of  the  individual  to  seek 
his  own  good  and  to  live  his  own  life.  Commerce  was 
bringing  a  great  variety  of  rewards  to  the  shrewd  mer- 
chant and  a  great  variety  of  goods  to  evoke  and  gratify 
wants.  Slavery  set  free  the  citizen  from  the  need  of 
manual  labor  and  gave  him  leisure  to  cultivate  his  tastes. 
The  forces  of  individualism,  described  in  Chapter  V.,  were 
all  at  work  to  bring  the  process  and  object  of  desire  to 
consciousness.  Moreover,  the  term  "good"  was  also  in  use 
to  mark  the  popular  ideal.  It  was  applied  to  what  we 
should  call  the  "successful"  men  of  the  day.  In  present 
life  our  term  "good"  has  become  so  definitely  moral  that 
probably  most  young  persons  would  hesitate  to  say  that 
they  have  it  as  their  ideal  to  become  good,  although  few 
would  hesitate  to  say  that  they  wish  to  be  capable  and 
successful.  For  social  and  political  recognition  seems  to 
be  based  rather  on  achievement  of  striking  results  than 
upon  what  is  technically  called  "goodness."  But  in  Greece 
moral  goodness  was  not  used  to  designate  "character"  as 
contrasted  with  "results."  The  "good  man"  was  like  the 
"good  law^^er"  or  "good  athlete"  or  "good  soldier,"  the 
man  who  was  efficient  and  conspicuous.  It  was  in  the  proc- 
ess which  we  are  to  trace  that  the  ambiguities  and  deeper 
meanings  of  the  term  came  to  definition. 

The  terms  Just  and  Justice  were  not  of  course  merely 
s3monyms  for  order  and  measure.  They  had  likewise 
the  social  significance  coming  from  the  courts   and   the 


114  MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

assembly.  They  stood  for  the  control  side  of  life,  as  Good 
stood  for  its  aspect  of  valuation  and  desire.  But  as  com- 
pared with  the  Hebrew  conception  of  righteousness,  they 
meant  much  less  a  conformity  to  a  law  divine  or  human 
which  had  been  already  set  up  as  standard,  and  much 
more,  an  ordering,  a  regulating,  a  harmonizing.  The 
rational  element  of  measure  or  order  was  more  prominent 
than  the  personal  note  of  authority.  Hence  we  shall  find 
Plato  passing  easily  back  and  forth  between  justice  or 
order  in  the  individual  and  justice  or  order  in  the  State. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  radicals  of  the  day  could  seize 
upon  the  legal  usage  and  declare  that  Justice  or  the  Law 
was  purely  a  matter  of  self-interest  or  class  interest. 

§  2.    INTELI.ECTUAI,  FORCES  OF  INDIVIDUALISM 

The  Scientific  Spirit. — The  older  standards  were  em- 
bodied in  religious  and  political  ideas  and  institutions; 
the  agency  which  was  to  disentangle  and  bring  into  clear 
consciousness  the  standards  as  such,  was  the  scientific 
spirit,  the  knowledge  and  reflection  of  an  intellectual  peo- 
ple at  a  period  of  extraordinarily  rapid  development.  The 
commercial  life,  the  free  intercourse  with  other  peoples 
and  civilizations,  especially  in  the  colonies,  the  absence 
of  any  generally  dominating  political  authority,  the  archi- 
tectural problems  suggested  by  a  beauty-loving  people, — 
all  promoted  alertness  and  flexibility  of  mind. 

In  a  concrete  form,  this  rational  character  had  already 
found  expression  in  the  quality  of  Greek  art.  Reference 
has  already  been  made  to  the  formal  side  of  Greek  art, 
with  its  embodiment  of  rhythm  and  measure;  the  subject- 
matter  shows  the  same  element.  The  Greek  world,  as  con- 
trasted with  the  barbarian  world,  was  conceived  by  the 
Greek  as  the  realm  of  light  contrasted  with  darkness ;  the 
national  God,  Apollo,  embodied  this  ideal  of  light  and 
reason,  and  his  fitting  symbol  was  the  sun.     The  great 


FORCES  OF  INDIVIDUALISM  115 

Pan-Athenaic  procession,  as  reproduced  in  the  Parthenon 
frieze,  celebrated  the  triumph  of  Greek  Hght  and  intelH- 
gence  over  barbarian  darkness.  Athena,  goddess  of  wis- 
dom, was  a  fitting  guardian  of  the  most  Greek  of-  all 
Greek  cities.  Greek  tragedy,  beginning  in  hymns  of 
worship,  soon  passed  over  into  a  portrayal  of  the  all- 
controlling  laws  of  life,  as  these  are  brought  into  stronger 
relief  by  a  tragic  collision  with  human  agents. 

It  was,  however,  in  the  realm  of  science  that  this  intel- 
lectual genius  found  field  for  expression  in  a  clearly  con- 
scious manner.  Almost  all  our  sciences  were  originated 
by  the  Greeks,  and  they  were  particularly  successful  in 
those  which  called  for  abstract  thinking  in  the  highest 
degree.  Euclid's  geometry  and  Aristotle's  logic  are  con- 
spicuous illustrations  of  this  ability.  The  most  general 
conceptions  of  natural  science:  e.g.,  the  conception  of  the 
atom  and  the  whole  materialistic  theory  of  the  universe; 
the  conception  of  evolution,  meaning  by  this  the  process 
of  change  according  to  an  all-controlling  law ;  the  concep- 
tion of  natural  selection,  according  to  which  those  organ- 
isms survive  which  are  fitted  for  their  environment, — all 
these  were  the  product  of  the  keen  intelligence  of  the 
Greeks.  Nor  was  their  scientific  ability  expended  upon 
external  nature  alone.  The  conception  of  history  as  more 
than  a  series  of  events,  the  comparative  method  in  the 
study  of  political  systems,  the  analysis  of  literary  and 
artistic  efi^ects,  attest  the  same  clarity  of  mind  and  the 
same  eager  search  for  the  most  general  laws  of  every  aspect 
of  experience. 

Science  and  Religion. — When,  now,  this  scientific  mind 
began  to  consider  the  practical  guidance  of  life,  the  older 
political  and  religious  controls  presented  serious  difficulty. 
The  gods  were  supposed  to  reward  the  good  and  punish 
the  evil,^  but  how  could  this  be  reconciled  with  their  prac- 

*  Cf.  Xenophon's  account  of  the  impressive  appeal  of  Clearchus: 
"For,  first  and  greatest,  the  oaths  which  we  have  sworn  by  the  gods 


116     MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

tices?  ^schylus  attempted  a  purifying  and  elevating  of 
the  divine  ideal,  similar  to  that  which  Israel's  conception 
underwent  in  the  work  of  the  prophets.  He  magnified  the 
dignity  and  providential  government  of  Zeus,  which, 
though  dark,  is  yet  just  and  certain.  But  the  great 
obstacle  was  that  the  earlier  and  cruder  conceptions  of 
the  gods  had  been  fixed  in  literary  form;  the  tales  of 
Cronos's  impiety  to  Uranos,  of  Zeus'  deceitful  messenger 
and  marital  unfaithfulness,  of  Aphrodite's  amours,  and 
Hermes'  gift  of  theft,  were  all  written  in  Hesiod  and 
Homer.  The  cruder  conceptions  of  the  gods  had  thus  be- 
come too  firmly  fixed  in  the  popular  imagination  to  be 
capable  of  becoming  the  bearers  of  advancing  ethical 
ideals,  and  so  not  merely  the  irreverent  scoffer,  but  the 
serious  tragedian,  Euripides,  and  the  religious  idealist, 
Plato,  do  not  hesitate  to  challenge  boldly  the  older  con- 
ceptions, or  to  demand  a  revision  of  all  this  literature  be- 
fore it  comes  into  the  hands  of  the  young. 

Social  Standards. — The  social  standards  of  propriety 
and  honorable  conduct  were  likewise  brought  in  question 
by  advancing  intelligence.  The  word  which  summed  up 
the  early  Greek  idea  of  the  best  type  was  Kalokagathos. 
This  word  was  very  nearly  the  equivalent  of  our  English 
word  "gentleman."  It  combined  the  elements  of  birth, 
ability,  and  refinement,  but  in  the  earlier  usage  the  empha- 
sis was  upon  the  fact  of  birth,  even  as  our  terms  "gener- 
ous," "noble,"  "gentle,"  originally  referred  to  membership 
in  a  "gens."  Socrates  investigated  the  current  estimates 
and  found  that  the  people  who  were  generally  regarded 
as  the  "respectable,"  or,  as  we  should  say,  the  "best" 
people  of  Athens,  were  not   necessarily   either   "fine"  or 

forbid  us  to  be  enemies  to  each  other.  Whoever  is  conscious  of 
having  transgressed  these, — him  I  could  never  deem  happy.  For  if 
one  were  at  war  with  the  gods,  I  know  not  with  what  swiftness 
he  might  flee  so  as  to  escape,  or  into  what  darkness  he  might  run, 
or  into  what  stronghold  he  might  retreat  and  find  refuge.  For 
all  things  are  everywhere  subject  to  the  gods,  and  the  gods  rule  all 
everywhere  with  equity." — Anabasis,  II.,  v. 


FORCES  OF  INDIVIDUALISM  117 

"good''  in  person  or  character;  the  term  had  come  to  be 
one  of  "convention,"  without  basis  in  reason.  Plato  goes 
still  further  and  with  a  direct  application  of  the  rational 
standard  to  the  current  estimates,  pokes  fun  at  the  con- 
ventional judgment  of  what  constitutes  the  respectable 
gentleman. 

"When  they  sing  the  praises  of  family  and  say  that  some 
one  is  a  gentleman  because  he  has  had  seven  generations  of 
wealthy  ancestors,  he  [the  philosopher]  thinks  that  their  senti- 
ments only  betray  the  dullness  and  narrowness  of  vision  of 
those  who  utter  them,  and  who  are  not  educated  enough  to 
look  at  the  whole,  nor  to  consider  that  every  man  has  had 
thousands  and  thousands  of  progenitors,  and  among  them  have 
been  rich  and  poor,  kings  and  slaves,  Hellenes  and  barbarians, 
many  times  over.  And  when  some  one  boasts  of  a  catalogue 
of  twenty-five  ancestors,  and  goes  back  to  Heracles,  the  son 
of  Amphitryon,  he  cannot  understand  his  poverty  of  ideas. 
Why  is  he  unable  to  calculate  that  Amphitryon  had  a  twenty- 
fifth  ancestor,  who  might  have  been  anybody,  and  was  such  as 
fortune  made  him,  and  he  had  a  fiftieth,  and  so  on.'*  He  is 
amused  at  the  notion  that  he  cannot  do  a  sum,  and  thinks  that 
a  little  arithmetic  would  have  got  rid  of  his  senseless  vanity." 

The  type  of  life  that  is  really  noble  or  fine  and  good 
is  to  be  found  in  the  seeker  for  true  beauty  and  good- 
ness. External  beauty  of  form  and  appearance  has  its 
value  in  kindling  the  desire  for  the  higher  forms  of  beauty, 
— beauty  of  mind,  of  institutions  and  laws,  of  science, — 
until  finally  the  conception  of  the  true  beauty  is  reached. 
This  true  beauty,  as  distinct  from  the  particular  beauties, 
and  true  good,  as  distinct  from  seeming  or  partial  good, 
are  discovered  only  by  the  "philosopher,"  the  seeker  for 
wisdom. 

Popular  Morals. — Nor  did  the  more  positively  recog- 
nized types  of  moral  excellence  fare  better.  As  recognized 
in  common  life,  they  were  courage,  prudence  or  modera- 
tion, holiness  or  a  certain  respect  for  the  serious  things 
of  life,  and  justice;  but  none  of  these,  Plato  argues,  is 
really   an   independent   excellence,   apart   from   conscious 


118     MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

and  intelligent  action.  Courage,  for  example,  is  not  really 
courage  unless  one  knows  and  foresees  the  danger  in  all 
its  strength ;  otherwise  there  is  merely  reckless  bravery. 
Prudence  or  moderation,  to  be  really  excellent,  must  be 
measured  by  wisdom.  Even  justice  cannot  be  regarded 
as  at  bottom  distinct  from  wisdom,  the  true  measure  of 
all  the  relations  of  life. 

Science  and  the  Laws. — The  political  control  was  like- 
wise involved  in  question  by  the  same  forces  of  intelligence 
which  had  challenged  the  religious  authority.  The  fre- 
quent changes  of  government,  and  the  more  or  less 
arbitrary  measures  that  were  oftentimes  adopted,  were 
adapted  to  awaken  doubt  as  to  the  absolute  right  and 
authority  of  the  laws.  The  despot  who  gained  control 
in  many  a  Greek  city  was  not  bound  by  ties  of  blood 
to  all  members  of  the  community,  nor  did  he  govern  in 
accordance  with  the  ancestral  traditions  of  the  tribe. 
The  political  authority  frequently  clashed  with  the  in- 
stincts and  traditions  of  family  and  kinship.  Under  such 
circumstances,  the  political  authority  was  likely  to  be 
challenged  and  its  constraining  power  stretched  to  the 
breaking  point.  So  in  the  Antigone  of  Sophocles,  the 
command  of  the  ruler  is  opposed  to  the  "higher  law"  of 
kinship  and  nature.  The  law  of  man  is  not  the  law  of 
nature  or  of  God.  To  disobey  this  conventional  law  of 
man  is  to  be  guilty  of  "holiest  crime."  The  old  standards, 
both  of  religion  and  of  political  life,  crumbled  before  the 
analysis  of  the  developing  intelligence,  and  the  demand 
for  some  standard  could  be  met  only  by  the  intelligence 
itself.  To  question  the  old  must  inevitably  seem  irreverent 
and  anarchical.  Some  questioned  merely  to  doubt ;  others, 
and  of  these  Socrates  was  the  leader,  questioned  in  order 
to  find  a  firmer  basis,  a  more  authoritative  standard.  But 
naturally  the  popular  mind  did  not  distinguish  between 
these  two  classes  of  questioners,  and  so  Socrates  perished, 
not  merely  as  the  victim  of  unjust  popular  calumny,  but 


THE  CLASH  OF  INTERESTS  119 

as  the  victim  of  the  tragedy  of  moral  progress,  of  the 
change  from  the  established  to  the  new. 


§  3.    COMMEUCIAL    AND    POLITICAL    INDIVIDUALISM 

A  further  line  of  development  joined  forces  with  this 
growth  of  intelligence,  to  emphasize  the  problem  of  moral 
control,  and  to  set  the  individual  with  his  standards  over 
against  the  objective  standards  of  society.  This  was  the 
rapidly  growing  consciousness  of  individual  goods  and 
interests.  The  commercial  life,  with  its  possibilities  of 
individual  property,  the  rapid  changes  of  political  life, 
with  the  rise  of  individuals  to  power  and  privilege,  the 
increasing  opportunities  which  a  high  civilization  brought 
both  men  and  women  for  personal  enjoyment  and  gratifi- 
cation of  rapidly  increasing  wants,  all  tended  to  make  the 
individual  seek  his  own  good,  and  to  shift  the  emphasis 
of  life  from  the  question.  What  is  proper,  or  honorable.? 
to  the  question,  What  is  good — good  for  me? 

Class  Interests. — The  conviction  that  the  authority  of 
government  and  law  was  largely  dictated  by  the  very  con- 
siderations of  private  interests  which  they  were  supposed 
to  overrule  and  eliminate,  made  the  situation  more  acute. 
For  the  Greek  States  were  no  longer  groups  with  common 
interests.  The  growth  of  capital,  the  corresponding  eager- 
ness for  gain,  the  formation  of  distinct  classes,  each  in- 
tent on  its  interests,  supplanted  the  older,  more  homoge- 
neous State.  "The  whole  development  of  the  political 
life  of  the  Hellenic  republics  depended  ultimately  on  the 
decision  of  the  question,  which  of  the  different  social 
classes — the  capitalistic  minority,  the  middle  class,  or 
the  poor — should  obtain  the  dominant  place."  Aristotle 
defines  an  oligarchy  as  a  State  governed  in  the  interest 
of  the  rich;  a  democracy,  as  a  State  governed  in  the 
interest  of  the  poor.  Another  contemporary  writer  ex- 
plains  a   democracy   as   consulting   the  interests   of   the 


120      MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

democrats,  the  "lower  classes,"  and  considers  this  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  "for  if  the  rich  had  the  say,  they  would  do 
what  was  good  for  themselves  but  not  for  the  multitude." 
Naturally  such  dominance  by  classes  called  out  vigorous 
criticisms  upon  the  laws  and  standards  so  established. 
The  aristocratic  minority  inveighed  against  "custom"  or 
conventions  which  would  tame  the  strong  to  the  level  of  the 
weak.  Nature  demands  rather  the  "survival  of  the  fittest," 
i.e.,  of  the  strong.  The  enlightened  spectator  of  the  game 
of  government,  on  the  other  hand,  declares  that  all  laws 
are  made  in  the  interest  of  ruling  classes.  The  reader  of 
current  criticisms  on  laws  and  courts  will  see  how  close 
is  the  parallel  to  present  complaints.  We  have  to-day 
the  same  two  classes:  One  inveighs  against  governmental 
interference  with  the  right  to  combine,  to  contract,  and 
in  general  to  get  from  the  earth  or  from  men,  women, 
and  children  all  that  superior  power  and  shrewdness  can 
possibly  extract.  The  other  complains  that  legislatures 
are  owned  by  wealth,  that  judges  are  appointed  from  cor- 
poration lawyers,  that  common  law  is  a  survival  of  ancient 
aristocratic  status,  and  that  for  these  reasons  labor  can 
get  no  justice. 

Let  us  first  hear  the  plea  for  inequality: 

"Custom  and  nature  are  generally  at  variance  with  one  an- 
other; .  .  .  for  by  the  rule  of  nature,  that  only  is  the  more 
disgraceful  which  is  the  greater  evil;  as,  for  example,  to  suffer 
injustice;  but  by  the  rule  of  custom,  to  do  evil  is  the  more 
disgraceful.  For  this  suffering  of  injustice  is  not  the  part  of 
a  man,  but  of  a  slave,  who  indeed  had  better  die  than  live ;  for 
when  he  is  wronged  and  trampled  upon,  he  is  unable  to  help 
himself  or  any  other  about  whom  he  cares.  The  reason,  as  I 
conceive,  is  that  the  makers  of  laws  are  the  many  weak;  and 
they  make  laws  and  distribute  praises  and  censures  with  a 
view  to  themselves  and  their  own  interests;  and  they  terrify 
the  mightier  sort  of  men,  and  those  who  are  able  to  get  the 
better  of  them,  in  order  that  they  may  not  get  the  better  of 
them;  and  they  say  that  dishonesty  is  shameful  and  unjust; 
meanwhile,  when  they  speak  of  injustice,  they  desire  to  have 


MIGHT  IS  RIGHT  121 

more  than  their  neighbors,  for  knowing  their  own  inferiority, 
they  are  only  too  glad  of  equality.  And  therefore,  this  seek- 
ing to  have  more  than  the  many  is  conventionally  said  to  be 
shameful  and  unjust,  and  is  called  injustice,  whereas  nature 
herself  intimates  that  it  is  just  for  the  better  to  have  more 
than  the  worse,  the  more  powerful  than  the  weaker;  and  in 
many  ways  she  shows,  among  men  as  well  as  among  animals, 
and  indeed  among  whole  cities  and  races,  that  justice  consists 
in  the  superior  ruling  over  and  having  more  than  the  inferior. 
For  on  what  principle  of  justice  did  Xerxes  invade  Hellas,  or 
his  father  the  Scythians?  (not  to  speak  of  numberless  other 
examples).  They,  I  conceive,  act  according  to  nature;  yes, 
and  according  to  the  law  of  nature;  not  perhaps,  according  to 
that  artificial  law  which  we  frame  and  fashion,  taking  the  best 
and  strongest  of  us  from  their  youth  upwards,  and  taming 
them  like  young  lions,  and  charming  them  with  the  sound  of 
the  voice,  saying  to  them  that  with  equality  they  must  be  con- 
tent, and  that  this  is  the  honorable  and  the  just.  But  if  there 
were  a  man  who  had  sufficient  force,  he  would  shake  off  and 
break  through  and  escape  from  all  this;  he  would  trample 
under  foot  all  our  formulas  and  spells  and  charms,  and  all  our 
laws,  sinning  against  nature;  the  slave  would  rise  in  rebellion 
and  be  lord  over  us,  and  the  light  of  natural  justice  would 
shine  forth.  And  this  I  take  to  be  the  lesson  of  Pindar,  in 
the  poem  in  which  he  says  that 

"  'Law  is  the  King  of  all,  mortals  as  well  as  immortals  P 
This,  as  he  says: 

"  'Makes  might  to  be  right,  and  does  violence  with  exalted  hand ;  as 
I  infer  from  the  deeds  of  Heracles,  for  without  buying  them ' 

'T  do  not  remember  the  exact  words,  but  the  meaning  is, 
that  he  carried  off  the  oxen  of  Geryon  without  buying  them, 
and  without  their  being  given  to  him  by  Geryon,  according 
to  the  law  of  natural  right,  and  that  the  oxen  and  other  pos- 
sessions of  the  weaker  and  inferior  properly  belong  to  the 
stronger  and  superior."      (Plato,  Gorgias,  482-4.) 

The  essence  of  this  view  is,  therefore,  that  might  is 
right,  and  that  no  legislation  or  conventional  code  ought 
to  stand  in  the  way  of  the  free  assertion  of  genius  and 


122     MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

power.  It  is  similar  to  the  teaching  of  Nietzsche  in 
recent  times. 

But  the  other  side  had  its  complaint  also.  The  laws 
are  made  by  the  "shepherds"  of  the  people,  as  Homer 
called  them.  But  who  is  now  so  simple  as  to  suppose  that 
the  "shepherds"  fatten  or  tend  the  sheep  with  a  view  to 
the  good  of  the  sheep,  and  not  to  their  own  good?  All 
laws  and  governments  really  exist  for  the  interest  of  the 
ruling  class. ^  They  rest  upon  convention  or  "institution," 
not  upon  "nature." 

Why  Obey  Lav^s  ? — And  if  laws  and  social  codes  are  but 
class  legislation,  conventional,  why  obey  them?  The  older 
Greek  life  had  felt  the  motives  described  in  Chapter  IV., 
though  it  had  embodied  them  in  symbolism  and  imagery. 
The  Nemesis  that  followed  the  guilty,  the  Erinnys,  or 
avenging  goddesses,  were  the  personified  wrath  of  outraged 
law ;  aidosy  respect  or  reverence,  aischyne,  regard  for  pub- 
lic opinion,  were  the  inner  feelings.  But  with  the  advancing 
tide  of  intellectual  criticism  and  individual  interest,  these 
sanctions  were  discredited,  feelings  of  personal  enjoyment 
demanded  recognition,  and  the  moralists  at  first  appealed 
to  this.  "Parents  and  tutors  are  always  telling  their  sons 
and  their  wards  that  they  are  to  be  just ;  but  only  not  for 
the  sake  of  justice,  but  for  the  sake  of  character  and 
reputation."  But  if  the  only  reason  for  justice  is  repu- 
tation, there  might  seem  to  be  no  sufficient  reason  for 
taking  the  thorny  path,  if  there  be  an  easier.  Will  not 
the  youth  say,  in  the  words  of  Pindar : 

"Can  I  by  justice,  or  by  crooked  ways  of  deceit,  ascend  a 
loftier  tower  which  may  be  a  fortress  to  me  all  my  days  ?"  ^ 

And  if  I  decide  that  the  crooked  way  is  the  easier,  why 
shall  I  not  follow  it?  My  party,  or  my  "union",  or  my 
lawyer  will  stand  by  and  see  me  through: 

*  Republic,  I.,  343. 
^Bepublic,  II.,  365. 


THE  ADVANTAGES  OF  INJUSTICE        123 

**But  I  hear  some  one  exclaiming  that  the  concealment  of 
wickedness  is  often  difficult;  to  which  I  answer,  Nothing  great 
is  easy.  Nevertheless,  the  argument  indicates  this,  if  we 
would  be  happy,  to  be  the  path  along  which  we  should  proceed. 
With  a  view  to  concealment  we  will  establish  secret  brother- 
hoods and  political  clubs.  And  there  are  professors  of 
rhetoric  who  teach  the  art  of  persuading  courts  and  assem- 
blies ;  and  so,  partly  by  persuasion  and  partly  by  force,  I  shall 
make  unlawful  gains  and  not  be  punished.  Still  I  hear  a 
voice  saying  that  the  gods  cannot  be  deceived,  neither  can  they 
be  compelled.  But  what  if  there  are  no  gods.^  or,  suppose 
them  to  have  no  care  of  human  things,  why  in  either  case 
should  we  mind  about  concealment.^"^ 

Besides,  the  greatest  prizes,  not  only  in  material  goods, 
but  even  in  the  line  of  reputation,  seemed  to  fall  to  the 
individualist  if  he  could  only  act  on  a  sufficiently  large 
scale.  He  could  then  be  both  prosperous  and  "respect- 
able." If  he  could  steal  the  government,  or,  in  modern 
phrase,  bribe  a  legislature  to  elect  him  to  Congress,  pass 
special  legislation,  or  grant  a  franchise,  he  could  not 
merely  escape  punishment,  but  be  honored  by  his  fellows. 

"I  am  speaking  of  injustice  on  a  large  scale,  in  which  the 
advantage  of  the  unjust  is  most  apparent,  and  my  meaning 
will  be  most  clearly  seen  in  that  highest  form  of  injustice,  the 
perpetrator  of  which  is  the  happiest  of  men,  as  the  sufferers 
of  these  who  refuse  to  do  injustice  are  the  most  miserable — I 
mean  tyranny  which  by  fraud  and  force  takes  away  the  prop- 
erty of  others,  not  retail  but  wholesale;  comprehending  in  one 
things  sacred  as  well  as  profane,  private  and  public,  for  any 
one  of  which  acts  of  wrong,  if  he  were  detected  perpetrating 
them  singly, he  would  be  punished  and  incur  great  dishonor; 
for  they  who  are  guilty  of  any  of  these  crimes  in  single 
instances  are  called  robbers  of  temples  and  man-stealers  and 
burglars  and  swindlers  and  thieves.  But  when  a  man  has 
taken  away  the  money  of  the  citizens  and  made  slaves  of  them, 
then  instead  of  these  dishonorable  names,  he  is  called  happy 
and  blessed,  not  only  by  the  citizens  but  by  all  who  hear  of  his 
Laving  achieved  the  consummation  of  injustice.     For  injustice 

^  Republic,  II.,  365. 


lU     MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

is  censured  because  the  censurers  are  afraid  of  suffering,  and 
not  from  any  fear  which  they  have  of  doing  injustice.  And 
thus,  as  I  have  shown,  Socrates,  injustice,  when  on  a  sufficient 
scale,  has  more  strength  and  freedom  and  mastery  than  jus- 
tice; and,  as  I  said  at  first,  justice  is  the  interest  of  the 
stronger,  whereas  injustice  is  a  man's  own  profit  and  interest."' 


§  4.    INDIVIDUALISM   AND    ETHICAL    THEORY 

The  Question  Formulated. — The  outcome  of  this  first 
movement  was  thus  twofold:  (a)  It  forced  the  ques- 
tions, "What  is  just.?"  "What  is  good?"  into  clear  and 
definite  consciousness.  The  very  necessity  of  comparison 
and  of  getting  a  general  standard^  forced  the  inquirer 
to  disentangle  the  concepts  previously  embodied  in  cus- 
toms and  laws.  But  when  the  essence  was  thus  found  and 
freed,  or  disembodied,  as  it  were,  the  custom  seemed  lifeless, 
merely  "convention",  and  the  essence  often  quite  opposed 
to  the  form,  (b)  It  emphasized  the  personal  interest y  the 
affective  or  emotional  side  of  conduct,  and  made  the  moral 
problem  take  the  form,  "What  is  the  good.^^" 

Furthermore,  two  positive  theses  have  been  established 
by  the  very  forces  which  have  been  active  in  disintegrating 
the  old  status.  If  custom  no  longer  suffices,  then  reason 
must  set  the  standard ;  if  society  cannot  prescribe  the  good 
to  the  individual,  then  the  individual  must  find  some  method 
of  defining  and  seeking  it  for  himself  unless  he  is  to  make 
shipwreck  of  his  whole  venture. 

We  may  bring  both  aspects  of  the  problem  under  the 
conception  of  "nature",  as  opposed  to  convention  or  institu- 
tion. Convention  is  indeed  outgrown,  nature  is  the  impe- 
rious authority.  But  granting  that  nature  is  rightful 
master,  is  "nature"  to  be  sought  in  the  primitive  begin- 
nings, or  in  the  fullest  development.?  in  a  life  of  isolation, 
or  in  a  life  of  society?  in  the  desires  and  passions,  or  in 
reason  and  a  harmonious  life? 

^  Republic,  I.,  343  f. 


INDIVIDUALISM  AND  ETHICAL  THEORY     125 

Or,  stating  the  same  problem  otherwise:  granting  that 
reason  must  fix  the  measure,  and  the  individual  must  define 
and  seek  the  good  for  himself,  is  the  good  to  be  found  in 
isolation,  or  is  it  to  be  sought  in  human  society  with  its 
bonds  of  family,  friendship,  and  justice?  Is  the  end  to 
be  pleasure,  found  in  the  gratification  of  desires,  irre- 
spective of  their  quality,  and  is  it  the  business  of  reason 
merely  to  measure  one  gratification  with  another  and  get 
the  most?  or  is  wisdom  itself  a  good,  and  is  it  better  to 
satisfy  certain  impulses  rather  than  others?  i.e.,  shall 
reason  form  the  standard  as  well  as  apply  it? 

These  contrasting  solutions  of  the  problem  of  life  may 
be  stated  then  under  the  two  pairs  of  antitheses :  ( 1 )  The 
Individual  versus  the  Social;  (2)  The  Immediate  Satisfac- 
tion versus  an  Ideal  Standard,  at  once  higher  and  more 
permanent. 

Typical  Solutions. — Poets,  radicals,  sensualists,  indi- 
vidualists of  no  philosophic  school,  as  well  as  the  historic 
philosophic  schools,  contributed  to  the  discussion  and  solu- 
tion of  these  problems.  All  sought  the  "natural"  life ;  but 
it  is  noteworthy  that  all  the  philosophic  schools  claimed 
Socrates  as  their  master,  and  all  sought  to  justify,  their 
answers  by  reason,  all  made  the  wise  man  the  ideal.  The 
Cynics  and  Cyrenaics,  Stoics  and  Epicureans,  Plato  and 
Aristotle  represent  the  various  philosophic  answers  to  these 
alternatives.  Cynics  and  Cyrenaics  both  answer  (1)  by 
individualism,  but  diverge  on  (2),  the  Cynics  placing  em- 
phasis on  independence  from  wants,  the  Cyrenaics  on  grati- 
fication of  wants.  Stoics  and  Epicureans  represent 
broader  and  more  social  development  of  the  same  prin- 
ciples, the  Stoics  seeking  a  cosmopolitan  state,  the  Epi- 
cureans a  community  of  friends ;  the  Stoics  emphasizing 
reason  or  wisdom  as  the  only  good ;  the  Epicureans  finding 
for  wisdom  a  field  in  the  selection  of  refined  pleasures. 
Plato  and  Aristotle,  with  varying  emphasis  but  essential 
agreement,  insist  (1)  that  the  good  of  man  is  found  in 


126      MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

fulfilling  completely  his  highest  possible  functions,  which 
is  possible  only  in  society;  (2)  that  wisdom  is  not  merely 
to  apply  a  standard  but  to  form  one;  that  while  neither 
reason  alone  nor  feeling  alone  is  enough  for  life,  yet  that 
pleasure  is  rather  for  life  than  life  for  pleasure.  Finally, 
Plato,  Aristotle  and  the  Stoics,  as  well  as  the  tragic  poets, 
contribute  successively  to  the  formation  of  an  ideal  of 
responsible  character. 

Early  Individualistic  Theories. — Cynics  and  Cyre- 
naics  were  alike  individualists.  Society,  they  held,  is  arti- 
ficial. Its  so-called  goods,  on  the  one  hand,  and  its  restric- 
tions on  the  other,  are  to  be  rejected  unless  they  favor  the 
individual's  happiness.  Independence  was  the  mark  of  wis- 
dom among  the  Cynics ;  Antisthenes,  proud  of  the  holes  in 
his  garment ;  Diogenes,  dwelling  in  his  tent  or  sleeping  in 
the  street,  scoffing  at  the  current  "conventions"  of  decency, 
asking  from  Philip  only  that  he  would  get  out  of  his  sun- 
shine— are  the  characteristic  figures.  The  "state  of  na- 
ture" was  opposed  to  the  State.  Only  the  primitive  wants 
were  recognized  as  natural.  "Art  and  science,  family  and 
native  land,  were  indifferent.  Wealth  and  refinement,  fame 
and  honor,  seemed  as  superfluous  as  those  enjoyments  of 
the  senses  which  went  beyond  the  satisfaction  of  the  natural 
wants  of  hunger  and  sex." 

The  Cyrenaics,  or  hedonists  (hedone,  pleasure),  gave  a 
different  turn  to  wisdom.  The  good  is  pleasure,  and  wis- 
dom is  found  in  that  prudence  which  selects  the  purest  and 
most  intense.  Hence,  if  this  is  the  good,  why  should  a  man 
trouble  himself  about  social  standards  or  social  obliga- 
tions .^^  "The  hedonists  gladly  shared  the  refinement  of  en- 
joyment which  civilization  brought  with  it;  they  found  it 
convenient  and  permissible  that  the  intelligent  man  should 
enjoy  the  honey  which  others  prepared;  but  no  feeling  of 
duty  or  thankfulness  bound  them  to  the  civilization  whose 
fruits  they  enjoyed.  Sacrifice  for  others,  patriotism,  and 
devotion  to  a  general  object,  Theodorus  declared  to  be  a 


THE  DEEPER  VIEW  OF  NATURE         127 

form  of  foolishness  which  it  did  not  become  the  wise  man  to 
share."^ 

§  5.    THE  DEEPER  VIEW  OF  NATURE  AND  THE  GOOD,*  OF  THE 
INDIVIDUAL  AND  THE  SOCIAL  ORDER 

Value  of  a  State. — Plato  and  Aristotle  take  up  boldly 
the  challenge  of  individualism.  It  may  indeed  be  granted 
that  existing  states  are  too  often  ruled  by  classes.  There 
are  oligarchies  in  which  the  soldier  or  the  rich  control  for 
their  own  interests ;  there  are  tyrannies  in  which  the  despot 
is  greed  and  force  personified;  there  are  democracies 
(Plato  was  an  aristocrat)  in  which  the  mob  bears  rule, 
and  those  who  flatter  and  feed  its  passions  are  in  authority. 
But  all  these  do  but  serve  to  bring  out  more  clearly  the 
conception  of  a  true  state,  in  which  the  rule  is  by  the  wisest 
and  best  and  is  not  for  the  interest  of  a  class,  but  for  the 
welfare  of  all.  Even  as  it  was,  the  state  of  Athens 
in  Plato's  day — except  when  it  condemned  a  Socrates — 
meant  completeness  and  freedom  of  life.  It  represented 
not  merely  a  police  force  to  protect  the  individual,  but  stood 
for  the  complete  organization  of  all  the  life  which  needs 
cooperation  and  mutual  support.  The  State  provided  in- 
struction for  the  mind  and  training  for  the  body.  It 
surrounded  the  citizen  with  an  atmosphere  of  beauty  and 
provided  in  the  tragedy  and  comedy  opportunities  for 
every  citizen  to  consider  the  larger  significance  of  life  or  to 
join  in  the  contagious  sympathy  of  mirth.  In  festivals 
and  solemn  processions  it  brought  the  citizen  into  unity 
of  religious  feeling.  To  be  an  Athenian  citizen  meant  to 
share  in  all  the  higher  possibilities  which  life  afforded.  In- 
terpreting this  life,  Aristotle  proclaims  that  it  is  not  in 
isolation,  but  in  the  State,  that  "the  goal  of  full  inde- 
pendence may  be  said  to  be  first  attained." 

The  Natural. — Aristotle  goes  directly  to  the  heart  of 
^  Windelband,  History  of  Philosophy,  p.  86. 


128     MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

the  problem  as  to  what  is  natural  by  asserting  that 
nature  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  crude  beginning,  but 
rather  in  the  complete  development.  "The  nature  of 
anything,  e.g.,  of  a  man,  a  horse,  or  a  house,  may 
be  defined  to  be  its  condition  when  the  process  of  produc- 
tion is  complete."  Hence  the  State  in  which  alone  com- 
pleteness of  life  is  attained  is  in  the  highest  sense  natural : 

"The  object  proposed  or  the  complete  development  of  a 
thing  is  its  highest  good;  but  independence  which  is  first 
attained  in  the  State  is  a  complete  development  or  the  highest 
good  and  is  therefore  natural."  "For  as  the  State  was  formed 
to  make  life  possible,  so  it  exists  to  make  life  good." 

"Thus  we  see  that  the  State  is  a  natural  institution,  that 
man  is  naturally  a  political  animal  and  that  one  who  is  not  a 
citizen  of  any  State,  if  the  cause  of  his  isolation  be  natural 
and  not  accidental,  is  either  a  superhuman  being  or  low  in 
the  scale  of  human  civilization,  as  he  stands  alone  like  a  'blot' 
on  the  backgammon  board.  The  'clanless,  lawless,  hearthless 
man,'  so  bitterly  described  by  Homer,  is  a  case  in  point,  for 
he  is  naturally  a  citizen  of  no  state  and  a  lover  of  war."  ^ 

Nor  does  Aristotle  stop  here.  With  a  profound  insight 
into  the  relation  of  man  to  society,  and  the  dependence  of 
the  individual  upon  the  social  body,  a  relation  which  mod- 
ern social  psychology  has  worked  out  in  greater  detail, 
Aristotle  asserts  that  the  State  is  not  merely  the  goal  of  the 
individual's  development,  but  the  source  of  his  life. 

"Again,  in  the  order  of  nature  the  State  is  prior  to  the 
household  or  individual.  For  the  whole  must  needs  be  prior 
to  its  part.  For  instance,  if  you  take  away  the  body  which 
Is  the  whole,  there  will  not  remain  any  such  thing  as  a  hand 
or  foot,  unless  we  use  the  same  word  in  a  different  sense,  as 
when  we  speak  of  a  stone  hand  as  a  hand.  For  a  hand 
separated  from  the  body  will  be  a  disabled  hand;  whereas  it 
is  the  faculty  or  function  of  a  thing  which  makes  it  what  it  is, 
and  therefore  when  things  lose  their  function  or  faculty,  it 
is    not    correct    to    call    them    the    same    things,    but    rather 

*  Politics,  I.,  ii.    Welldon's  translation. 


THE  DEEPER  VIEW  OF  NATURE         129 

homonymous,  i.e.,  different  things  having  the  same  name.  We 
see,  then,  the  State  is  a  natural  institution,  and  also  that  it 
is  prior  to  the  individual.  For  if  the  individual  as  a  separate 
unit  is  not  independent,  he  must  be  a  part  and  must  bear  the 
same  relation  to  the  State  as  the  other  parts  to  their  wholes; 
and  one  who  is  incapable  of  association  with  others  or  is 
independent  and  has  no  need  of  such  association,  is  no  member 
of  a  State;  in  other  words,  he  is  either  a  brute  or  a  God."  ^ 

And,  moreover,  when  we  look  into  the  nature  of  the  indi- 
vidual, we  do  not  find  him  a  being  devoid  of  the  sympathies 
and  qualities  which  find  their  natural  expression  not  only 
in  the  State,  but  in  various  social  and  friendly  relations. 
There  is  "an  impulse  toward  the  life  in  common"  {qjikia) 
which  expresses  itself  in  friendship,  but  which  is  also  so 
essential  to  that  recognition  of  others  called  justice  that 
we  may  say  "it  is  the  most  just  of  all  just  things,"  There 
is  also  a  unity  of  disposition  and  purpose  {6}x6voia)  which 
may  be  called  "political  friendship."  ^ 

Plato's  Ideal  State. — How  then  is  the  State  constituted 
and  governed  which  is  to  provide  for  man's  full  develop- 
ment, his  complete  good.^^  Evidently  two  principles  must 
control.  In  the  first  place,  it  must  be  so  constituted  that 
every  man  may  develop  in  it  the  full  capacities  of  his  na- 
ture, and  thereby  serve  at  once  the  perfection  of  the  State 
and  his  own  completeness ;  and  in  the  second  place,  the  State 
or  social  whole  must  be  ruled  by  those  best  fitted  for  this 
work.  Not  the  soldier,  nor  the  plutocrat,  nor  the  artisan, 
but  the  man  who  knows,  is  the  suitable  ruler  for  our  ideal 
community.  The  soldier  may  defend,  the  artisan  may  sup- 
port, but  the  scientific  or  intelligent  man  should  rule.  And 
it  is  evident  that  in  settling  this  principle,  we  have  also  an- 
swered our  first  problem;  for  the  soldier  and  the  artisan 
will  find  his  full  development  by  doing  the  work  which  he 
can  do  well,  not  by  meddling  with  a  task  in  which  he  must 

*  Politics,  I.,  ii.  Welldon's  translation, 

*  Ethics,  VIII.,  L;  IX.,  vi. 


130     MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

necessarily  fail.  In  order  to  guard  against  the  greed 
which  was  so  characteristic  of  the  governments  of  his  day, 
Plato  would  provide  that  the  rulers  and  warriors  should 
have  no  private  property,  and  not  even  private  families. 
Their  eye  should  be  single  to  the  good  of  the  whole.  When 
asked  as  to  the  practicability  of  a  State  governed  by  such 
disinterested  rulers,  and  with  such  wisdom,  he  admits  in- 
deed its  difficulty,  but  he  stoutly  demands  its  necessity : 

"Until  philosophers  are  kings,  or  the  kings  and  princes 
of  this  world  have  the  spirit  and  power  of  philosophy, 
and  political  greatness  and  wisdom  meet  in  one,  and  those 
commoner  natures  who  pursue  either  to  the  exclusion  of  the 
other  are  compelled  to  stand  aside,  cities  will  never  have 
rest  from  their  evils, — no,  nor  the  human  race,  as  I  believe, — 
and  then  only  will  this  our  State  have  a  possibility  of  life  and 
behold  the  light  of  day."  ^ 

And  yet  the  question  of  the  actual  existence  of  a  perfect 
State  is  not  the  question  of  supreme  importance.  For  Plato 
has  grasped  the  thought  that  man  is  controlled  not  only 
by  what  he  sees,  but  by  what  he  images  as  desirable.  And 
if  a  man  has  once  formed  the  image  of  an  ideal  State  or 
city  of  this  kind,  in  which  justice  prevails,  and  life  reaches 
fuller  and  higher  possibilities  than  it  has  yet  attained,  this 
is  the  main  thing. 

*'In  heaven,  there  is  laid  up  a  pattern  of  it,  methinks, 
which  he  who  desires  may  behold,  and  beholding,  may  set 
his  own  house  in  order.  But  whether  such  an  one  exists,  or 
ever  will  exist  in  fact,  is  no  matter:  for  he  will  live  after  the 
manner  of  that  city,  having  nothing  to  do  with  any  other."  ^ 

The  Social  as  Law  of  Nature. — The  social  nature  of 
man,  thus  vindicated  by  Plato  and  Aristotle,  remained  as 
the  permanent  possession  of  Greek  thought.  Even  the 
Epicureans,  who  developed  further  the  hedonistic  theory  of 

*  Republic,  V.,  473. 
^Ibid.,  IX.,  592. 


THE  DEEPER  VIEW  OF  NATURE         131 

life,  emphasized  the  values  of  friendship  as  among  the 
choicest  and  most  refined  sources  of  pleasure.  The  Stoics, 
who  in  their  independence  of  wants  took  up  the  tradition  of 
the  Cynics,  were  yet  far  from  interpreting  this  as  an  inde- 
pendence of  society.  The  disintegration  of  the  Greek 
states  made  it  impossible  to  find  the  social  body  in  the  old 
city-state,  and  so  we  find  with  the  Stoics  a  certain  cosmo- 
politanism. It  is  the  highest  glory  of  man  to  be  a  citizen 
not  of  Athens  but  of  the  universe, — not  of  the  city  of  Ce- 
crops,  but  of  the  city  of  Zeus.  And  through  this  concep- 
tion the  social  nature  of  man  was  made  the  basis  of  a  "nat- 
ural law,"  which  found  its  expression  in  the  principles  of 
Roman  and  modern  jurisprudence. 

Passion  or  Reason. — In  answering  the  question  as  to 
the  true  nature  of  man,  Plato  and  Aristotle  found  the  sug- 
gestions likewise  for  the  problem  of  individual  good.  For 
if  the  soldier  as  the  seeker  for  fame  and  honor,  the  avari- 
cious man  embodying  the  desire  for  wealth,  and  still  more, 
the  tyrant  personifying  the  unbridled  expression  of  every 
lust  and  passion,  are  abhorrent,  is  it  not  easy  to  see  that 
an  orderly  and  harmonious  development  of  impulses  under 
the  guidance  and  control  of  reason,  is  far  better  than  that 
uncramped  expression  of  desires  and  cravings  for  which 
some  of  the  radical  individualists  and  sensualists  of  the 
day  were  clamoring?  As  representative  of  this  class,  hear 
Callicles : 

"I  plainly  assert  that  he  who  would  truly  live  ought  to 
allow  his  desires  to  wax  to  the  uttermost,  and  not  to  chastise 
them;  but  when  they  have  grown  to  their  greatest,  he  should 
have  courage  and  intelligence  to  minister  to  them  and  to 
satisfy  all  his  longings.  And  this  I  affirm  to  be  natural  jus- 
tice and  nobility."  The  temperate  man  is  a  fool.  It  is  only  in 
hungering  and  eating,  in  thirsting  and  drinking,  in  having 
all  his  desires  about  him,  and  gratifying  every  possible  de- 
sire, that  man  lives  happily.^ 

*  Qorgias,  491  ff. 


132     MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

But  even  Callicles  himself  admits  that  there  are  certain 
men,  the  creatures  of  degraded  desire,  whose  hves  are  not 
ideal,  and  hence  that  there  must  be  some  choice  of  pleasure. 
And  carrying  out  in  the  individual  life  the  thought  above 
suggested  by  the  State,  Plato  raises  the  question  as  to 
whether  man,  a  complex  being,  with  both  noble  and  ignoble 
impulses,  and  with  the  capacity  of  controlling  reason,  can 
be  said  to  make  a  wise  choice  if  he  lets  the  passions  run 
riot  and  choke  out  wholly  his  rational  nature: 

"Is  not  the  noble  that  which  subjects  the  beast  to  the  man, 
or  rather  to  the  god  in  man;  and  the  ignoble  that  which  sub- 
jects the  man  to  the  beast?  He  can  hardly  avoid  admitting 
this, — can  he  now  ?  Not  if  he  has  any  regard  for  my  opinion. 
But,  if  he  admits  this,  we  may  ask  him  another  question: 
How  would  a  man  profit  if  he  received  gold  and  silver  on  the 
condition  that  he  was  to  enslave  the  noblest  part  of  him  to  the 
worst?  Who  can  imagine  that  a  man  who  sold  his  son  or 
daughter  into  slavery  for  money,  especially  if  he  sold  them 
into  the  hands  of  fierce  and  .evil  men,  would  be  the  gainer, 
however  large  might  be  the  sum  which  he  received?  And  will 
any  one  say  that  he  is  not  a  miserable  caitiff  who  sells  his  own 
divine  being  to  that  which  is  most  atheistical  and  detestable 
and  has  no  pitj'^?  Eriphyle  took  the  necklace  as  the  price  of 
her  husband's  life,  but  he  is  taking  a  bribe  in  order  to  compass 
a  worse  ruin."  ^ 

Necessity  of  a  Standard  for  Pleasure. — If,  for  the 
moment,  we  rule  out  the  question  of  what  is  noble  or 
"kalon,"  and  admit  that  the  aim  of  life  is  to  live  pleas- 
antly, or  if,  in  other  words,  it  is  urged  as  above  that  jus- 
tice is  not  profitable  and  that  hence  he  who  would  seek  the 
highest  good  will  seek  it  by  some  other  than  the  thorny 
path,  we  must  recognize  that  the  decision  as  to  which  kind 
of  pleasure  is  preferable  will  depend  on  the  character  of 
the  man  who  judges. 

"Then  we  may  assume  that  there  are  three  classes  of  men, 
— lovers  of  wisdom,  lovers  of  ambition,  lovers  of  gain?  Ex- 
actly.    And  there  are  three  kinds  of  pleasure,  which  are  their 

^Republic,  IX.,  589  f. 


THE  DEEPER  VIEW  OF  NATURE         133 

several  objects?  Very  true.  Now,  if  you  examine  the  three 
classes  and  ask  of  them  in  turn  which  of  their  lives  is  pleasant- 
est,  each  of  them  will  be  found  praising  his  own  and  depre- 
cating that  of  others;  the  money-maker  will  contrast  the 
vanity  of  honor  or  of  learning  with  the  solid  advantages  of 
gold  and  silver?  True_,  he  said.  And  the  lover  of  honor, — 
what  will  be  his  opinion  ?  Will  he  not  think  that  the  pleasure 
of  riches  is  vulgar,  while  the  pleasure  of  learning,  which  has 
no  need  of  honor,  he  regards  as  all  smoke  and  nonsense? 
True,  he  said.  But  may  we  not  suppose,  I  said,  that  philos- 
ophy estimates  other  pleasures  as  nothing  in  comparison  with 
knowing  the  truth,  and  in  that  abiding,  ever  learning,  in  the 
pursuit  of  truth,  not  far  indeed  from  the  heaven  of  pleasure? 
The  other  pleasures  the  philosopher  disparages  by  calling 
them  necessary,  meaning  that  if  there  were  no  necessity  for 
them,  he  would  not  have  them.  There  ought  to  be  no  doubt 
about  that,  he  replied.  Since,  then,  the  pleasure  of  each  class 
and  the  life  of  each  is  in  dispute,  and  the  question  is  not  which 
life  is  most  honorable,  or  better  or  worse,  but  which  is  the 
more  pleasant  or  painless, — how  shall  we  know?  I  cannot 
tell,  he  said.  Well,  but  what  ought  to  be  the  criterion?  Is 
any  better  than  experience  and  wisdom  and  reason?  There 
cannot  be  a  better,  he  said.  If  wealth  and  gain  were  the 
criterion,  then  what  the  lover  of  gain  praised  and  blamed 
would  surely  be  the  truest?  Assuredly.  Of  if  honor  or 
victory  or  courage,  in  that  case  the  ambitions  or  contentments 
would  decide  best?  Clearly.  But  since  experience  and 
wisdom  and  reason  are  the  judges,  the  inference  of  course  is, 
that  the  truest  pleasures  are  those  which  are  approved  by  the 
lover  of  wisdom  and  reason.*'  ^ 

It  is  thus  evident  that  even  if  we  start  out  to  find  the 
good  in  pleasure,  we  need  some  kind  of  measuring  art.  We 
need  a  "standard  for  pleasure,"  and  this  standard  can  be 
found  only  in  wisdom.  And  this  forces  us  to  maintain  that 
wisdom  is  after  all  the  good.  Not  merely  intellectual  at- 
tainment— a  life  of  intellect  without  feeling  would  be  just 
as  little  a  true  human  life  as  would  the  life  of  an  oyster, 
which  has  feeling  with  no  intelligence.  A  life  which  in- 
cludes sciences  and  arts,  and  the  pure  pleasures  of  beauty, 

*  Bepublic,  IX.,  581  f. 


134     MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

presided  over  by  wisdom  and  measure  and  symmetry, — this 
is  Plato's  vision  of  the  hf e  of  the  individual,  viewed  from 
within. 

Eudaemonism. — Aristotle's  conception  of  the  good  is 
fundamentally  the  same.  It  is  a  full  development  of  man's 
capacities,  culminating  in  a  rational  and  harmonious  life. 
If,  says  Aristotle,  we  are  to  find  the  ultimate  good,  we  must 
try  to  find,  if  possible,  some  one  end  which  is  pursued  as  an 
end  in  itself,  and  never  as  a  means  to  something  else,  and 
the  most  general  term  for  this  final  end  is  "eudaimonia," 
or  well-being,  "for  we  also  choose  it  for  itself  and  never  for 
the  sake  of  something  else."  What  is  the  essence  of  well- 
being?  This,  according  to  Aristotle,  is  to  be  found  by  ask- 
ing what  is  the  function  of  man.  The  life  of  nutrition  and 
growth  man  has  in  common  with  the  plants ;  the  life  of 
sense  in  common  with  the  animal.  It  is  in  the  life  of  his  ra- 
tional nature  that  we  must  find  his  especial  function.  "The 
good  of  man  is  exercise  of  his  faculties  in  accordance  with 
their  appropriate  excellence."  External  goods  are  valu- 
able because  they  may  be  instruments  toward  such  full 
activity.  Pleasure  is  to  be  valued  because  it  "perfects  the 
activities,  and  therefore  perfects  life,  which  is  the  aim  of 
human  desire" — rather  than  valued  as  an  end  in  itself. 
No  one  would  choose  to  live  on  condition  of  having  a  child's 
intellect  all  his  life,  though  he  were  to  enjoy  in  the  highest 
possible  degree  all  the  pleasures  of  a  child. ^ 

The  "Mean." — The  crowning  importance  of  wisdom  as 
the  rational  measure  of  the  ideal  life  is  also  illustrated  in 
Aristotle's  theory  of  excellence  (or  virtue)  as  a  "mean". 
This  phrase  is  somewhat  ambiguous,  for  some  passages 
would  seem  to  indicate  that  it  is  merely  striking  an  aver- 
age between  two  kinds  of  excesses,  and  finding,  as  it  were, 
a  moderate  amount  of  feeling  or  action ;  but  there  is  evi- 
dently involved  here  just  the  old  thought  of  measure,  and 
"the  mean  is  what  right  reason  prescribes."  It  is  not  every 
*  Ethics,  X.,  ii.-iv. 


THE  DEEPER  VIEW  OF  NATURE         135 

one  who  can  find  the  mean,  but  only  he  who  has  the  requisite 
knowledge.  The  supreme  excellence  or  virtue  is,  there- 
fore, the  wisdom  which  can  find  the  true  standard  for 
action/ 

The  Wise  Man. — Finally  the  conception  of  virtue  as 
wisdom  is  illustrated  in  the  ideals  of  the  three  prominent 
schools  in  later  Greek  thought, — the  Sceptics,  Epicu- 
reans, and  Stoics.  The  wise  man  among  Sceptics  is  he  who 
suspends  judgment  where  it  is  impossible  to  be  certain. 
The  wise  man  among  Epicureans  is  he  who  chooses  the  finest 
and  surest  and  most  lasting  pleasures.  The  wise  man 
among  Stoics  is  he  who  overcomes  his  emotions.  But  in 
every  case  the  ideal  is  expressed  in  the  same  phrase,  "the 
wise  man." 

Man  and  the  Cosmos. — ^We  see  thus  how  Greek 
thought,  starting  out  to  challenge  all  society's  laws  and 
standards  and  bring  them  to  the  bar  of  knowledge,  has 
found  a  deeper  value  and  higher  validity  in  the  true  social 
and  moral  order.  The  appeal  was  to  the  Cassar  of  reason, 
and  reason  taken  in  its  full  significance  carries  us  beyond 
the  immediate  and  transient  to  the  broader  and  more  per- 
manent good.     Nor  can  reason  in  its  search  for  good  be 

^  Among  the  various  types  of  excellence  which  Aristotle  enu- 
merates as  exemplifying  this  principle,  the  quality  of  high-mindedness 
(jj.E-ya?ioipvxia)  is  pre-eminent,  and  may  be  taken  as  embodying  the  trait 
most  prized  in  an  Athenian  gentleman.  The  high-minded  man  claims 
much  and  deserves  much;  lofty  in  his  standard  of  honor  and  excel- 
lence he  accepts  tributes  from  good  men  as  his  just  desert,  but 
despises  honor  from  ordinary  men  or  on  trivial  grounds;  good  and 
evil  fortune  are  alike  of  relatively  small  importance.  He  neither 
seeks  nor  fears  danger;  he  is  ready  to  confer  favors  and  forget 
injuries,  slow  to  ask  favors  or  cry  for  help;  fearless  in  his  love  and 
hatred,  in  his  truth  and  his  independence  of  conduct;  "not  easily 
moved  to  admiration,  for  nothing  is  great  to  him.  He  loves  to 
possess  beautiful  things  that  bring  no  profit,  rather  than  useful 
things  that  pay;  for  this  is  characteristic  of  the  man  whose  resources 
are  in  himself.  Further,  the  character  of  the  high-minded  man  seems 
to  require  that  his  gait  should  be  slow,  his  voice  deep,  his  speech 
measured;  for  a  man  is  not  likely  to  be  in  a  hurry  when  there 
are  few  things  in  which  he  is  deeply  interested,  nor  excited  when  he 
holds  nothing  to  be  of  very  great  importance;  and  these  are  the 
causes  of  a  high  voice  and  rapid  movements"  {Ethics,  IV.,  vi.-viii.). 


136     MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

content,  urges  Plato,  with  the  superficial  facts  of  life  and 
society.  He  who  would  find  and  achieve  his  complete  func- 
tion, his  full  development,  must  broaden  his  horizon  still 
further.  As  his  own  particular  life  is  but  a  part  of  the  on- 
going of  the  larger  world,  whose  forces  act  upon  him,  limit 
him,  and  determine  his  possibilities,  it  becomes  absolutely 
necessary  to  study  not  merely  his  own  end  and  purpose,  but 
the  end  and  purpose  of  the  universe.  Human  good  requires 
us  to  know  the  larger  good,  the  Good,  in  the  full  and  com- 
plete sense.  And  this  perfect  Good  which  is,  in  truth,  the 
very  essence  of  the  universe,  is  but  another  term  for  God, 
and  Plato  often  uses  the  two  as  interchangeable  terms. 

So  the  "Nature"  which  Greek  life  was  seeking  gets  its 
deepest  significance  and  reinterprets  the  old  religious  de- 
mand for  unity  of  the  life  of  man  with  the  forces  of  the 
unseen.  And  the  Stoic  later,  in  his  maxim  "Follow  Nature," 
gives  more  explicit  recognition  to  the  return  of  the  circle. 
For  the  great  work  of  Greek  science  had  brought  out  into 
complete  clearness  the  idea  of  Nature  as  a  system  of  law. 
The  universe  is  a  rational  universe,  a  cosmos,  and  man,  as 
above  all  else  a  rational  being,  finds  thus  his  kinship  to  the 
universe.  To  follow  Nature,  therefore,  means  to  know  the 
all-pervading  law  of  Nature  and  submit  to  it  in  calm  ac- 
ceptance or  resignation. 

"All  is  harmonious  to  me  that  is  harmonious  to  thee,  O 
universe ;  all  is  fruit  to  me  which  thy  seasons  bring."  ^ 

§  6.    THE   CONCEPTION   OF   THE  IDEAL 

Contrast  of  Actual  and  Ideal. — The  two  stages  of 
Greek  thought  which  we  have  sketched  did  more  than  to  re- 
adjust Greek  life  to  deeper  views  of  the  State  and  the  indi- 
vidual; of  the  good  and  of  nature.  The  very  challenge 
and  process  brought  into  explicit  consciousness  a  new 
feature  of  the  moral  life,  which  is  fundamental  to  true 
*  Marcus  Aureliiis,  Thoughts,  IV.,  23, 


THE  CONCEPTION  OF  THE  IDEAL        137 

moral  consciousness,  viz.,  the  factor  of  contrast  between 
the  actual  and  the  ideal.  We  have  seen  that  the  clash  of 
one-sided  interests  and  political  institutions  and,  in  the  case 
of  Plato,  the  tragic  execution  of  Socrates,  obliged  Plato 
and  Aristotle  to  admit  that  the  actual  State  did  not  sub- 
serve the  real  purpose  which  they  were  forced  to  seek  in 
social  organization.  Both  Plato  and  Aristotle,  therefore, 
draw  the  picture  of  a  State  that  should  serve  the  complete 
purposes  of  human  development.  And  again,  in  the  indi- 
vidual life,  both  the  conception  of  the  development  of  man's 
highest  possibilities  and  the  conception  of  a  measure  or 
standard  for  the  conflicting  desires  and  purposes  lead  on 
to  a  conception  which  shall  embody  not  merely  the  existing 
status  but  the  goal  of  yet  unrealized  purpose. 

The  Ideal  as  the  True  Reality. — Various  qualities  and 
aspirations  are  embodied  by  Plato  in  this  conception,  and 
with  characteristic  Greek  genius  he  has  given  to  this  con- 
ception of  the  ideal  almost  as  concrete  and  definite  a  form 
as  the  Greek  sculptor  of  Apollo  gave  to  his  ideal  of  light 
and  clarity,  or  the  sculptor  of  Aphrodite  to  the  conception 
of  grace.  As  contrasted  with  the  flux  of  transient  emo- 
tions, or  the  uncertain  play  of  half -comprehended  or  futile 
goods,  this  ideal  good  is  conceived  as  eternal,  unchanging, 
ever  the  same.  It  is  superhuman  and  divine.  As  con- 
trasted with  various  particular  and  partial  goods  on  which 
the  sons  of  men  fix  their  affections,  it  is  the  one  universal 
good  which  is  valid  for  all  men  everywhere  and  forever. 
In  his  effort  to  find  suitable  imagery  for  this  conception, 
Plato  was  aided  by  the  religious  conceptions  of  the  Orphic 
and  Pythagorean  societies,  which  had  emphasized  the  pre- 
existence  and  future  existence  of  the  soul,  and  its  dis- 
tinction from  the  body.  In  its  previous  life,  said  Plato, 
the  soul  has  had  visions  of  a  beauty,  a  truth,  and  a  good- 
ness of  which  this  life  affords  no  adequate  examples.  And 
with  this  memory  within  it  of  what  it  has  looked  upon  be- 
fore, it  judges  the  imperfect  and  finite  goods  of  this  present 


138     MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

world  and  longs  to  fly  away  again  and  be  with  God.  This 
thought  of  contrast  between  ideal  and  actual,  to  which 
Plato  in  some  of  his  writings  gave  the  term  of  a  contrast 
between  soul  and  body,  passed  on  with  increased  emphasis 
into  Stoic  and  later  Platonist  schools,  and  furnished  a  phil- 
osophic basis  for  the  dualism  and  asceticism  which  is  found 
in  Hellenistic  and  mediseA^al  morality. 

Ethical  Significance. — ^While  the  true  ethical  contrast 
between  the  actual  and  the  ideal  was  thus  shifted  over  into 
a  metaphysical  contrast  between  soul  and  body,  or  be- 
tween what  is  fixed  and  what  is  changing,  the  funda- 
mental thought  is  highly  significant,  for  it  merely  symbol- 
izes in  objective  form  the  characteristic  of  every  moral 
judgment,  viz.,  the  testing  and  valuing  of  an  act  by  some 
standard,  and  what  is  even  more  important,  the  forming 
of  a  standard  by  which  to  do  the  testing.  Even  Aristotle, 
who  is  frequently  regarded  as  the  mere  describer  of  what 
is,  rather  than  the  idealistic  portrayer  of  what  ought  to 
be,  is  no  less  insistent  upon  the  significance  of  the  ideal. 
In  fact,  his  isolation  of  reflection  or  theoria  from  the  civic 
virtues  was  used  by  the  mediaeval  church  in  its  idealization 
of  the  "contemplative  life."  Like  Plato,  he  conceives  the 
ideal  as  a  divine  element  in  human  nature: 

"Nevertheless,  instead  of  listening  to  those  who  advise  us  as 
men  and  mortals  not  to  lift  our  thoughts  above  what  is  human 
and  mortal,  we  ought  rather,  as  far  as  possible,  to  put  off  our 
mortality  and  make  every  effort  to  live  in  the  exercise  of  the 
highest  of  our  faculties;  for  though  it  be  but  a  small  part  of 
us,  yet  in  power  and  value  it  far  surpasses  all  the  rest."^ 


§  7.    THE    CONCEPTION    OF    THE    SELF ;    OF    CHARACTER   AND 
RESPONSIBILITY 

The  Poets. — Out  of  the  fierce  competition  of  individual 
desires,  the  clashing  of  individual  ambitions,  the  conflict 

^  Ethics,  X.,  vii. 


THE  CONCEPTION  OF  THE  SELF         139 

between  the  individual  and  the  state,  and  the  deepening  of 
the  conception  of  the  individual's  "nature,"  emerged  also 
another  conception  of  fundamental  importance  for  the 
more  highly  developed  reflective  moral  life,  viz.,  that 
of  the  moral  personality,  its  character  and  its  responsi- 
bility. We  may  trace  the  development  of  this  conception 
through  the  poets,  as  well  as  in  the  philosophers.  JEschy- 
lus  set  man  over  against  the  gods,  subject  to  their  divine 
laws,  but  gave  little  play  to  human  character  or  con- 
scious self -direction.  With  Sophocles,  the  tragic  situation 
was  brought  more  directly  into  the  field  of  human  character, 
although  the  conception  of  destiny  and  the  limitations 
marked  thereby  were  still  the  dominant  note.  With  Eurip- 
ides, human  emotions  and  character  are  brought  into  the 
foreground.  Stout-heartedness,  the  high  spirit  that  can 
endure  in  suff^ering  or  triumph  in  death,  which  shows  not 
merely  in  his  heroes  but  in  the  women,  Polyxena  and  Medea, 
Phaedra  and  Iphigenia,  evinces  the  growing  conscious- 
ness of  the  self — a  consciousness  which  will  find  further 
development  in  the  proud  and  self-sufficient  endurance  of 
the  Stoic.  In  more  directly  ethical  lines,  we  find  increas- 
ing recognition  of  the  self  in  the  motives  which  are  set  up 
for  human  action,  and  in  the  view  which  is  formed  of 
human  character.  Conscience  in  the  earlier  poets  and  mor- 
alists, was  largely  a  compound  of  Nemesis,  the  external 
messenger  and  symbol  of  divine  penalty,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  Aidos,  the  sense  of  respect  or  reverence  for  public 
opinion  and  for  the  higher  authority  of  the  gods,  on  the 
other.  But  already  in  the  tragedians  we  find  suggestions 
of  a  more  intimate  and  personal  conception.  Pains  sent  by 
Zeus  in  dreams  may  lead  the  individual  to  meditate,  and 
thus  to  better  life.     Neoptolemus,  in  Sophocles,  says, 

"All  things  are  noisome  when  a  man  deserts 
His  own  true  self  and  does  what  is  not  meet." 

and  Philoctetes  replies, 

"Have  mercy  on  me,  boy,  by  all  the  gods. 
And  do  not  shame  thyself  by  tricking  me." 


140     MORAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  GREEKS 

The  whole  Antigone  of  Sophocles  is  the  struggle  between 
obedience  to  the  political  rulers  and  obedience  to  the  higher 
laws  which  as  "laws  of  reverence"  become  virtually  inner 
laws  of  duty: 

"I  know  I  please  the  souls  I  ought  to  please.'* 
Plato. — Here,  as  in  the  formulation  of  his  conception  of 
the  ideal,  religious  imagery  helped  Plato  to  find  a  more  ob- 
jective statement  for  the  conception  of  a  moral  judgment 
and  a  moral  character.  In  the  final  judgment  of  the  soul 
after  death,  Plato  sees  the  real  self  stripped  bare  of  all 
external  adornments  of  beauty,  rank,  power,  or  wealth, 
and  standing  as  naked  soul  before  the  naked  judge,  to  re- 
ceive his  just  reward.  And  the  very  nature  of  this  reward 
or  penalty  shows  the  deepening  conception  of  the  self,  and 
of  the  intrinsic  nature  of  moral  character.  The  true  pen- 
alty of  injustice  is  not  to  be  found  in  anything  external, 
but  in  the  very  fact  that  the  evil  doers  become  base  and 
wicked : 

"They  do  not  know  the  penalty  of  injustice,  which  above 
all  things  they  ought  to  know, — not  stripes  and  death,  as  they 
suppose,  which  evil  doers  often  escape,  but  a  penalty  which 
cannot  be  escaped. 

Theod.  What  is  that? 

Soc.  There  are  two  patterns  set  before  them  in  nature;  the 
one  blessed  and  divine,  the  other  godless  and  wretched;  and 
they  do  not  see,  in  their  utter  folly  and  infatuation,  that  they 
are  growing  like  the  one  and  unlike  the  other,  by  reason  of 
their  evil  deeds;  and  the  penalty  is  that  they  lead  a  life 
answering  to  the  pattern  which  they  resemble."  ^ 

The  Stoics. — It  is,  however,  in  the  Stoics  that  we  find 
the  conception  of  inner  reflection  reaching  clearest  ex- 
pression. Seneca  and  Epictetus  repeat  again  and  again 
the  thought  that  the  conscience  is  of  higher  importance 
than  any  external  judgment, — that  its  judgment  is  inevi- 
table. In  these  various  conceptions,  we  see  attained  the 
third  stage  of  Adam  Smith's  description  of  the  formation 
^  Thewtetus,  176. 


THE  CONCEPTION  OF  THE  SELF        141 

of  conscience.^  Man  who  read  his  duty  at  first  in  the  judg- 
ments of  his  fellows,  in  the  customs  and  laws  and  codes  of 
honor,  and  in  the  religious  precepts  of  the  gods,  has  again 
come  to  find  in  gods  and  laws,  in  custom  and  authority,  the 
true  rational  law  of  life ;  but  it  is  now  a  law  of  self.  Not 
a  particular  or  individual  self,  but  a  self  which  embraces 
within  it  at  once  the  human  and  the  divine.  The  individ- 
ual has  become  social  and  has  recognized  himself  as  such. 
The  religious,  social,  and  political  judgments  have  become 
the  judgments  of  man  upon  himself.  "Duty,"  what  is 
binding  or  necessary,  takes  its  place  as  a  definite  moral 
conception. 

LITERATURE 

Besides  the  writings  of  Plato  (especially,  the  Apology,  Crito, 
Protagoras,  Gorgias,  and  Bepuhlic)^  Xenophon  {Memorabilia),  Aris- 
totle {Ethics,  Politics),  Cicero  {On  Ends,  Laws,  Duties',  On  the 
Nature  of  the  Gods),  Epictetus,  Seneca,  M.  Aurelius,  Plutarch,  and 
the  fragments  of  various  Stoics,  Epicureans,  and  Sceptics,  the  trage- 
dies of  ^schylus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides,  and  the  comedies  of 
Aristophanes   (especially  the  Clouds)  aflPord  valuable  material. 

All  the  histories  of  philosophy  treat  the  theoretical  side;  among 
them  may  be  mentioned  Gomperz  {Greek  Thinkers,  1900-05),  Zeller 
{Socrates;  Plato;  Aristotle;  Stoics,  Epicureans,  and  Sceptics), 
Windelband,  Benn  {Philosophy  of  Greece,  1898,  chs.  i.,  v.). 

On  the  Moral  Consciousness:  Schmidt,  Ethik  der  alten  Griechen, 
1882.  On  the  social  conditions  and  theories:  Pohlmann,  Geschichte  des 
antiken  Kommunismus  und  Sozialismus,  1893-1901 ;  Doring,  Die  Lehre 
des  Sokrates  als  sociales  Reformsystem,  1895.  On  the  religion:  Far- 
nell.  Cults  of  the  Greek  States,  3  vols.,  1896;  Rohde,  Psyche,  1894. 

On  Political  Conditions  and  Theory:  Newman,  Introd.  to  Politics  of 
Aristotle,  1887;  Bradley,  Aristotle's  Theory  of  the  State  in  Hellenica; 
Wilamovitz-Mollendorf,  Aristotle  und  Athen,  1900. 

On  Nature  and  Law  of  Nature:  Ritchie,  Natural  Rights,  1895; 
Burnet,  Int.  Journal  of  Ethics,  vii.,  1897,  pp.  328-33;  Hardy,  Begriff 
der  Physis,  1884;  Voigt,  Die  Lehre  vom  jus  naturale,  1856-75. 

General:  Denis,  Histoire  des  Theories  et  des  Idees  Morales  dans 
VAntiquite,  1879;  Taylor,  Ancient  Ideals,  1900;  Caird,  Evolution  of 
Theology  in  the  Greek  Philosophers,  1904;  Janet,  Histoire  de  la 
Science  Politique  dans  ses  Rapports  avec  la  Morale,  1887;  Grote,  His- 
tory of  Greece,  4th  ed.,  1872;  Plato  and  the  Other  Companions  of 
Socrates,  1888. 

*  Smith  held  that  we  (1)  approve  or  disapprove  the  conduct  of 
others;  (2)  see  ourselves  as  others  see  us,  judging  ourselves  from 
their  standpoint;  (3)  finally,  form  a  true  social  standard,  that  of 
the  "impartial  spectator."    This  is  an  inner  standard — conscience. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

The  moral  life  of  the  modern  western  world  differs  from 
both  Hebrew  and  Greek  morality  in  one  respect.  The  He- 
brews and  Greeks  were  pioneers.  Their  leaders  had  to 
meet  new  situations  and  shape  new  conceptions  of  right- 
eousness and  wisdom.  Modern  civilization  and  morality, 
on  the  other  hand,  received  certain  ideals  and  stand- 
ards already  worked  out  and  established.  These  came  to  it 
partly  through  the  literature  of  Hebrews,  Greeks,  and 
Latins,  partly  through  Greek  art  and  Roman  civilization, 
but  chiefly,  perhaps,  through  two  institutions :  ( 1 )  Roman 
government  and  law  embodied  Stoic  conceptions  of  a  nat- 
ural law  of  reason  and  of  a  world  state,  a  universal  ra- 
tional society.  This  not  only  gave  the  groundwork  of  gov- 
ernment and  rights  to  the  modern  world ;  it  was  a  con- 
stant influence  for  guiding  and  shaping  ideas  of  authority 
and  justice.  (2)  The  Christian  Church  in  its  cathedrals, 
its  cloisters,  its  ceremonials,  its  orders,  and  its  doctrines  had 
a  most  impressive  system  of  standards,  valuations,  mo- 
tives, sanctions,  and  prescriptions  for  action.  These  were 
not  of  Hebrew  origin  solely.  Greek  and  Roman  philosophy 
and  political  conceptions  were  fused  with  more  primi- 
tive teaching  and  conduct.  When  the  Germans  conquered 
the  Empire  they  accepted  in  large  measure  its  institutions 
and  its  religion.  Modern  morality,  like  modern  civilization, 
shows  the  mingled  streams  of  Hebrew,  Greek,  Roman,  and 
German  or  Celtic  life.  It  contains  also  conceptions  due 
to  the  peculiar  industrial,  scientific,  and  political  develop- 
ment of  modern  times.    Thus  we  have  to-day  such  inherited 

143 


THE  MEDL^VAL  IDEALS  143 

standards  as  that  of  "the  honor  of  a  gentleman"  side  by 
side  with  the  modern  class  standard  of  business  honesty, 
and  the  labor  union  ideal  of  class  solidarity.  We  have  the 
aristocratic  ideals  of  chivalry  and  charity  side  by  side  with 
more  democratic  standards  of  domestic  and  social  justice. 
We  find  the  Christian  equal  standard  for  the  two  sexes 
side  by  side  with  another  which  sets  a  high  value  on  wo- 
man's chastity,  but  a  trivial  value  on  man's.  We  find  a 
certain  ideal  of  self-sacrifice  side  by  side  with  an  ideal  of 
"success"  as  the  only  good.  We  cannot  hope  to  disen- 
tangle all  {he  threads  that  enter  this  variegated  pattern, 
or  rather  collection  of  patterns,  but  we  can  point  out  cer- 
tain features  that  at  the  same  time  illustrate  certain  gen- 
eral lines  of  development.  We  state  first  the  general  atti- 
tude and  ideals  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  then  the  three  lines 
along  which  individualism  has  proceeded  to  the  moral  con- 
sciousness of  to-day. 

§  1.    THE    MEDIEVAL    IDEALS 

The  mediaeval  attitude  toward  life  was  determined  in  part 
by  the  character  of  the  Germanic  tribes  with  their  bold, 
barbaric  strength  and  indomitable  spirit,  their  clan  and 
other  group  organizations,  their  customs  or  mores  belong- 
ing to  such  a  stock;  and  in  part  by  the  religious  ideals 
presented  in  the  church.  The  presence  of  these  two  factors 
was  manifest  in  the  strong  contrasts  everywhere  present. 

"Associated  with  mail-clad  knights  whose  trade  is  war  and 
whose  delight  is  to  combat  are  the  men  whose  sacred  voca- 
tion forbids  the  use  of  force  altogether.  Through  lands 
overspread  with  deeds  of  violence,  the  lonely  wayfarer  with 
the  staff  and  badge  of  a  pilgrim  passes  unarmed  and  in  safety. 
In  sight  of  castles,  about  whose  walls  fierce  battles  rage,  are 
the  church  and  the  monastery,  within  the  precincts  of  which 
quiet  reigns  and  all  violence  is  branded  as  sacrilege."  ^ 

The  harsh   clashes   of  the   Venus   music   over   against 
*  Fisher,  History  of  the  Christian  Church,  p.  237. 


144  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

the  solemn  strains  from  the  Pilgrim's  Chorus  in  Tann- 
hauser  might  well  symbolize  not  only  the  specific  col- 
lision of  the  opera  but  the  broader  range  of  passions  op- 
posed to  the  religious  controls  and  values  in  this  mediaeval 
society. 

The  Group  and  Class  Ideal. — The  early  Germans  and 
Celts  in  general  had  the  clan  system,  the  group  ideals, 
and  group  virtues  which  belonged  to  other  Aryan  peo- 
ples, but  the  very  fact  of  the  Germanic  victories  shows 
a  military  spirit  which  included  both  personal  heroism 
and  good  capacity  for  organization.  Group  loyalty  was 
strong,  and  the  group  valuation  of  strength  and  cour- 
age was  unbounded.  A  high  value  was  also  set  on  wom- 
an's chastity.  These  qualities,  particularly  the  loyalty 
to  the  clan  and  its  head,  survived  longest  in  Celtic 
peoples  like  the  Scots  and  Irish  who  were  not  subjected 
to  the  forces  of  political  organization.  Every  reader  of 
Scott  is  familiar  with  the  values  and  defects  of  the  type ; 
and  the  problems  which  it  causes  in  modern  democracy  have 
been  acutely  described  by  Jane  Addams.^  Among  the 
Germanic  peoples,  when  the  clan  and  tribal  systems  were 
followed  by  the  more  thoroughgoing  demarcation  of 
classes,  free  and  serfs,  lords  and  villains,  chevalier  or 
knight,  and  churl,  the  old  Latin  terms  "gentle"  and  "vul- 
gar" found  a  fitting  application.  The  term  "gentle" 
was  indeed  given  in  one  of  its  usages  the  force  of  the 
kindred  term  "kind"  to  characterize  the  conduct  appro- 
priate within  the  kin,  but  in  the  compound  "gentleman" 
it  formed  one  of  the  most  interesting  conceptions  of  class 
morality.  The  "honor"  of  a  gentleman  was  determined 
by  what  the  class  demanded.  Above  all  else  the  gentle- 
man must  not  show  fear.  He  must  be  ready  to  fight  at 
any  instant  to  prove  his  courage.  His  word  must  not 
be  doubted.     This  seems  to  have  been  on  the  ground  that 

^  Democracy  and  Social  Ethics,  pp.  222-77;  Newer  Ideals  of  Peace, 
ch.  V. 


THE  MEDIiEVAL  IDEALS  145 

such  doubt  would  be  a  refusal  to  take  the  man  at  his  own 
estimate,  rather  than  because  of  any  superlative  love  of 
truth,  for  the  approved  way  to  prove  the  point  at  issue  was 
by  fighting,  not  by  any  investigation.  But  the  class  char- 
acter appears  in  the  provision  that  no  insult  from  one  of 
a  lower  class  need  be  noticed.  Homicide  was  not  contrary 
to  the  character  and  honor  of  a  gentleman.  Nor  did  this 
require  any  such  standard  in  sex  relations  as  a  "woman's 
honor"  requires  of  a  woman.  In  conduct  toward  others, 
the  "courtesy"  which  expresses  in  ceremony  and  man- 
ner respect  for  personal  dignity  was  a  fine  trait.  It 
did  not  always  prevent  insolence  toward  inferiors,  although 
there  was  in  many  cases  the  feeling,  noblesse  oblige.  What 
was  needed  to  make  this  ideal  of  gentleman  a  moral  and 
not  merely  a  class  ideal,  was  that  it  should  base  treatment 
of  others  on  personal  worth  rather  than  on  birth,  or 
wealth,  or  race,  and  that  it  should  not  rate  reputation  for 
courage  above  the  value  of  human  life.  This  has  been 
in  part  effected,  but  many  traits  of  the  old  conception 
live  on  to-day. 

The  Ideal  of  the  Church.— The  ideal  of  life  which  the 
church  presented  contained  two  strongly  contrasting 
elements,  which  have  been  frequently  found  in  religion 
and  are  perhaps  inevitably  present.  On  the  one  hand,  a 
spiritual  religion  implies  that  man  in  comparison  with 
God  is  finite,  weak,  and  sinful;  he  should  therefore  be  of 
"a  humble  and  contrite  heart."  On  the  other  hand,  as  a 
child  of  God  he  partakes  of  the  divine  and  is  raised  to 
infinite  worth.  On  the  one  hand,  the  spiritual  life  is  not 
of  this  world  and  must  be  sought  in  renouncing  its  pleas- 
ures and  lusts ;  on  the  other  hand,  if  God  is  really  the 
supreme  governor  of  the  universe,  then  this  world  also 
ought  to  be  subject  to  his  rule.  In  the  mediaeval  view  of 
life,  the  humility  and  withdrawal  from  the  world  were 
assigned  to  the  individual;  the  sublimity  and  the  ruling 
authority  to  the  church.     Ethically  this  distribution  had 


146  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

somewhat  the  effect  of  group  morality  in  that  it  mini- 
mized the  individual  and  magnified  the  corporate  body 
of  which  he  was  a  part.  Asceticism  and  humility  go  hand 
in  hand  with  the  power  of  the  hierarchy.  Individual 
poverty — wealth  of  the  church;  individual  meekness  and 
submission — unlimited  power  and  authority  in  the  church; 
these  antitheses  reflect  the  fact  that  the  church  was  the  heir 
both  of  a  kingdom  of  God  and  of  a  Roman  Empire.  The 
humility  showed  itself  in  extreme  form  in  the  ascetic  type 
of  monasticism  with  its  vows  of  poverty,  chastity,  and 
obedience.  It  was  reflected  in  the  art  which  took  for  its 
subjects  the  saints,  conceived  not  individually,  but  typic- 
ally and  according  to  tradition  and  authority.  Their  thin 
attenuated  figures  showed  the  ideal  prescribed.  The  same 
humility  showed  itself  in  the  intellectual  sphere  in  the 
preeminence  given  to  faith  as  compared  with  reason,  while 
the  mystic  losing  himself  in  God  showed  yet  another  phase 
of  individual  renunciation.  Even  charity,  with  which  the 
church  sought  to  temper  the  hardship  of  the  time,  took 
a  form  which  tended  to  maintain  or  even  applaud  the 
dependent  attitude  of  the  recipient.  So  far  as  life  for 
the  individual  had  a  positive  value,  this  lay  not  in  living 
oneself  out,  but  rather  in  the  calm  and  the  support  afforded 
by  the  church: 

**A  life  in  the  church,  for  the  church,  through  the  church; 
a  life  which  she  blessed  in  mass  at  morning  and  sent  to  peace- 
ful rest  by  the  vesper  hymn;  a  life  which  she  supported  by 
the  constantly  recurring  stimulus  of  the  sacraments,  relieving 
it  by  confession,  purifying  it  by  penance,  admonishing  it  by 
the  presentation  of  visible  objects  for  contemplation  and  wor- 
ship— this  was  the  life  which  they  of  the  Middle  Ages  con- 
ceived of  as  the  rightful  life  of  man;  it  was  the  actual  life 
of  many,  the  ideal  of  all."  ^ 

On  the  other  side,  the  church  boldly  asserted  the  right 
and  duty  of  the  divine  to  control  the  world, — the  reli- 

*  Bryce,  Holy  Roman  Empire,  p.  367. 


MAIN  LINES  OF  MODERN  DEVELOPMENT   im 

gious  symbol  of  the  modern  proposition  that  conscience 
should  dominate  political  and  business  affairs.  "No  insti- 
tution is  apart  from  the  authority  of  the  church,"  wrote 
^gidius  Colonna.  "No  one  can  legitimately  possess  field 
or  vine  except  under  its  authority  or  by  it.  Heretics  are 
not  owners,  but  unjustly  occupy."  Canossa  symbolized 
the  supremacy  of  the  spiritual  over  the  temporal  power, 
and  there  is  a  sublime  audacity,  moral  as  well  as  political, 
in  the  famous  Bull  of  Boniface  VIIL,  "We  declare  that 
every  human  creature  is  subject  to  the  Roman  pontiff." 

The  church  as  a  corporate  society  expressed  also  the 
community  of  its  members.  It  was  indeed  no  mere  col- 
lection of  individual  believers.  As  a  divine  institution, 
the  "body  of  Christ  on  earth,"  it  gave  to  its  members 
rather  than  received  from  them.  It  invested  them  with 
new  worth,  instead  of  getting  its  own  worth  from  them. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  not  an  absolute  authority;  it  repre- 
sented the  union  of  all  in  a  common  fellowship,  a  com- 
mon destiny,  and  a  common  cause  against  the  powers 
of  evil. 

The  massive  cathedrals  which  remain  as  the  monu- 
ments of  the  ages  of  faith,  are  fitting  symbols  of  these 
aspects  of  mediseval  life.  They  dominate  their  cities 
architecturally,  as  the  church  dominated  the  life  of  the 
ages  which  built  them.  They  inspired  within  the  wor- 
shipper, on  the  one  hand,  a  sense  of  finiteness  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  sublime;  on  the  other,  an  elevation  of  soul 
as  he  became  conscious  of  union  with  a  power  and  pres- 
ence not  his  OAvn.  They  awed  the  worshiping  assembly 
and  united  it  in  a  common  service. 

§  2.    MAIN    LINES    OF    MODERN    DEVELOPMENT 

We  have  seen  that  the  mediaeval  life  had  two  sets  of 
standards  and  values:  one  set  by  the  tribal  codes  and  the 
instinct  of  a  warlike  people;  the  other  set  by  a  church 


148  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

which  required  renunciation  while  it  asserted  control. 
Changes  may  be  traced  in  both  ideals.  The  group  moral- 
ity becomes  refined  and  broadened.  The  church  standards 
are  affected  in  four  ways:  (a)  The  goods  of  the  secular 
life,  art,  family,  power,  wealth,  claim  a  place  in  the  sys- 
tem of  values,  (b)  Human  authority  asserts  itself,  at 
first  in  sovereign  states  with  monarchs,  then  in  the  growth 
of  civil  liberty  and  political  democracy,  (c)  Instead  of 
faith,  reason  asserts  itself  as  the  agency  for  discovering 
the  laws  of  nature  and  of  life,  (d)  As  the  result  of  the 
greater  dignity  and  worth  of  the  individual  which  is 
worked  out  in  all  these  lines,  social  virtue  tends  to  lay 
less  value  on  charity  and  more  on  social  justice. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  movements  to  be 
outlined  have  resulted  in  the  displacement  or  loss  of 
the  positive  values  in  the  religious  ideal.  The  morality 
of  to-day  does  not  ignore  spiritual  values ;  it  aims  rather 
to  use  them  to  give  fuller  meaning  to  all  experience.  It 
does  not  abandon  law  in  seeking  freedom,  or  ignore 
duty  because  it  is  discovered  by  reason.  Above  all,  it 
is  seeking  to  bring  about  in  more  intimate  fashion  that 
supremacy  of  the  moral  order  in  all  human  relations  for 
which  the  church  was  theoretically  contending.  And  in 
recent  times  we  are  appreciating  more  thoroughly  that 
the  individual  cannot  attain  a  full  moral  life  by  himself. 
Only  as  he  is  a  member  of  a  moral  society  can  he  find 
scope  and  support  for  full  development  of  will.  In  con- 
crete phrase,  it  is  just  as  necessary  to  improve  the  gen- 
eral social  environment  in  which  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren are  to  live,  in  order  to  make  better  individuals,  as  it 
is  to  improve  the  individuals  in  order  to  get  a  better 
society.  This  was  a  truth  which  the  religious  concep- 
tion of  salvation  through  the  church  taught  in  other 
terms. 

To  follow  the  development  of  the  modern  moral  con- 
sciousness, we  shall  rely  not  so  much  on  the  formal  writ- 


OLD  AND  NEW  IN  INDIVIDUALISM       149 

ings  of  moral  philosophers  as  on  other  sources.  What  men 
value  most,  and  what  they  recognize  as  right,  is  shown 
in  what  they  work  for  and  fight  for  and  in  how  they  spend 
their  leisure.  This  is  reflected  more  immediately  in  their 
laws,  their  art  and  literature,  their  religion,  and  their 
educational  institutions,  although  it  finds  ultimate  expres- 
sion in  moral  theories.  The  more  concrete  aspects  are 
suggested  in  this  chapter,  the  theories  in  Chapter  XIL 

§  S.    THE    OLD    AND    NEW    IN    THE    BEGINNINGS    OP 
INDIVIDUAIJSM 

An  interesting  blending  of  the  class  ideal  of  the  warrior 
and  "gentleman"  with  the  religious  ideals  of  devotion  to 
some  spiritual  service,  and  of  protection  to  the  weak,  is 
aff^orded  by  chivalry.  The  knights  show  their  faith  by 
their  deeds  of  heroism,  not  by  renunciation.  But  they 
fight  for  the  Holy  Sepulcher,  or  for  the  weak  and  op- 
pressed. Their  investiture  is  almost  as  solemn  as  that 
of  a  priest.  Honor  and  love  appear  as  motives  side  by 
side  with  the  quest  of  the  Holy  Grail.  Chevalier  Bayard 
is  the  gallant  fighter  for  country,  but  he  is  also  the 
passionate  admirer  of  justice,  the  knight  sans  peur  et 
sans  reproche.  Moreover,  the  literature  which  embodies 
the  ideal  exhibits  not  only  feats  of  arms  and  religious 
symbolism.  Parsifal  is  not  a  mere  abstraction;  he  has 
life  and  character.  "And  who  will  deny,"  writes  Francke,^ 
"that  in  this  character  Wolfram  has  put  before  us,  within 
the  forms  of  chivalrous  life,  an  immortal  symbol  of 
struggling,  sinning,  despairing,  but  finally  redeemed, 
humanity  ?^^ 

If  chivalry  represented  in  some  degree  a  moralizing 
of  the  warrior  class,  the  mendicant  orders  represented 
an  effort  to  bring  religion  into  secular  life.  The  followers 
of  St.  Dominic  and  St.  Francis  were  indeed  ascetic,  but 
instead  of  maintaining  the  separate  life  of  the  cloister 
*  Social  Forces  in  German  Literature,  p.  93. 


150  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

they  aimed  to  awaken  a  personal  experience  among  the 
whole  people.  Further,  the  Dominicans  adopted  the  meth- 
ods and  conceptions  of  Greek  philosophy  to  support  the 
doctrines  of  the  church,  instead  of  relying  solely  on  faith. 
The  Franciscans  on  their  part  devoted  an  ecstatic  type 
of  piety  to  deeds  of  charity  and  beneficence.  They  aimed 
to  overcome  the  world  rather  than  to  withdraw  from  it. 
A  bolder  appeal  to  the  individual,  still  within  the  sphere 
of  religion,  was  made  when  Wyclif  asserted  the  right  of 
every  instructed  man  to  search  the  Bible  for  himself, 
and  a  strong  demand  for  social  justice  found  expression  in 
Wyclif's  teaching  as  well  as  in  the  vision  of  Piers  Plowman, 

In  the  political  world  the  growing  strength  of  the 
empire  sought  likewise  a  religious  sanction  in  its  claim  of 
a  divine  right,  independent  of  the  church.  The  claims  of 
the  civic  life  find  also  increasing  recognition  with  the 
spiritual   teachers. 

The  State  had  been  regarded  by  Augustine  as  a  con- 
sequence of  the  fall  of  man,  but  it  now  comes  to  claim 
and  receive  a  moral  value:  first,  with  Thomas  Aquinas, 
as  the  institution  in  which  man  perfects  his  earthly  na- 
ture and  prepares  for  his  higher  destiny  in  the  realm 
of  grace;  then,  with  Dante,  as  no  longer  subordinate  to 
the  church,  but  coordinate  with  it. 

Finally,  the  rise  of  the  universities  shows  a  most  sig- 
nificant appearance  of  the  modern  spirit  under  the  old 
sanctions.  The  range  of  secular  studies  was  limited  and 
the  subject-matter  to  be  studied  was  chiefly  the  doctrine 
of  the  Fathers.  The  teachers  who  drew  thousands  of  eager 
young  men  about  them  were  clerics.  But  the  very  fact 
that  dialectics — the  art  of  reasoning — was  the  focus  of 
interest,  shows  the  dawn  of  a  spirit  of  inquiry.  Such 
a  book  as  Abelard's  Sic  et  Non,  which  marshaled  the 
opposing  views  of  the  Fathers  in  "deadly  parallel,"  was 
a  challenge  to  tradition  and  an  assertion  of  reason.  And 
it  is  not  without  significance  that  the  same  bold  thinker  was 


INDIVIDUALISM  IN  DEMOCRACY  151 

the  first  of  the  mediaeval  scholars  to  treat  ethics  again  as 
a  field  bj  itself.  The  title  ''Know  Thyself  suggests  its 
method.  The  essence  of  the  moral  act  is  placed  in  the 
intent  or  resolve  of  the  will ;  the  criterion  for  judgment  is 
agreement  or  disagreement  with  conscience. 

§  4.    INDIVIDUALISM     IN     THE     PROGRESS     OF     LIBERTY     AND 
DEMOCRACY 

Rights. — It  is  not  possible  or  necessary  here  to  sketch  the 
advance  of  political  and  civil  liberty.  Finding  its  agents 
sometimes  in  kings,  sometimes  in  cities,  sometimes  in  an 
aristocracy  or  a  House  of  Commons,  and  sometimes  in  a 
popular  uprising,  it  has  also  had  as  its  defenders  with 
the  pen.  Churchmen,  Protestants,  and  freethinkers,  law- 
yers, publicists,  and  philosophers.  All  that  can  be  done 
here  is  to  indicate  briefly  the  moral  significance  of  the 
movement.  Some  of  its  protagonists  have  been  actuated 
by  conscious  moral  purpose.  They  have  fought  with 
sword  or  pen  not  only  in  the  conviction  that  their  cause 
was  just,  but  because  they  believed  it  just.  At  other  times, 
a  king  has  favored  a  city  to  weaken  the  power  of  the 
nobility,  or  the  Commons  have  opposed  the  king  because 
they  objected  to  taxation.  What  makes  the  process  sig- 
nificant morally  is  that,  whatever  the  motives  actuating 
those  who  have  fought  its  battles  with  sword  or  pen,  they 
have  nearly  always  claimed  to  be  fighting  for  "rights." 
They  have  professed  the  conviction  that  they  are  engaged 
in  a  just  cause.  They  have  thus  made  appeal  to  a  moral 
standard,  and  in  so  far  as  they  have  sincerely  sought  to 
assert  rights,  they  have  been  recognizing  in  some  sense 
a  social  and  rational  standard ;  they  have  been  building  up 
a  moral  personality.  Sometimes  indeed  the  rights  have 
been  claimed  as  a  matter  of  "possession"  or  of  tradi- 
tion. This  is  to  place  them  on  the  basis  of  customary 
morality.     But  in  such  great  crises  as  the  English  Revo- 


152  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

lutions  of  the  seventeenth  century,  or  the  French  and 
American  Revolutions  of  the  eighteenth,  some  deeper  basis 
has  been  sought.  A  Milton,  a  Locke,  a  Rousseau,  a  Jef- 
ferson, has  but  voiced  the  sentiments  of  a  people  in 
formulating  an  expHcitly  moral  principle.  Sometimes  this 
has  taken  the  form  of  an  appeal  to  God-given  rights.  All 
men  are  equal  before  God ;  why  should  one  man  assume  to 
command  another  because  of  birth?  In  this  sense  the 
Puritans  stood  for  liberty  and  democracy  as  part  of  their 
creed  of  life.  But  often  the  appeal  to  a  moral  principle 
borrowed  the  conceptions  of  Greek  philosophy  and  Roman 
law,  and  spoke  of  "natural  rights"  or  a  "law  of  nature."^ 
Natural  Rights. — This  conception,  as  we  have  noted, 
had  its  origin  in  Greece  in  the  appeal  from  custom  or  con- 
vention to  Nature.  At  first  an  appeal  to  the  natural 
impulses  and  wants,  it  became  with  the  Stoics  an  appeal 
to  the  rational  order  of  the  universe.  Roman  jurists  found 
in  the  idea  of  such  a  law  of  nature  the  rational  basis 
for  the  law  of  society.  Cicero  had  maintained  that  every 
man  had  its  principles  innate  within  him.  It  is  obvious 
that  here  was  a  principle  with  great  possibilities.  The 
Roman  law  itself  was  most  often  used  in  the  interest  of 
absolutism,  but  the  idea  of  a  natural  law,  and  so  of  a 
natural  right  more  fundamental  than  any  human  dictate, 
proved  a  powerful  instrument  in  the  struggle  for  personal 
rights  and  equality.  "All  men  naturally  were  born  free," 
wrote  Milton.  "To  understand  political  power  right," 
wrote  Locke,  "and  derive  it  from  its  original,  we  must 
consider  what  state  all  men  are  naturally  in,  and  that  is 
a  state  of  perfect  freedom  to  order  their  actions  and  dis- 
pose of  their  possessions  and  persons,  as  they  think  fit, 
within  the  bounds  of  the  law  of  nature;  without  asking 
leave  or  depending  on  the  will  of  any  other  man.  A  state 
also  of  equality,  wherein  all  the  power  and  jurisdiction  is 
reciprocal."     These  doctrines  found  eloquent  portrayal 

'Pp.  130  f.,  136, 


INDIVIDUALISM  AFFECTED  BY  INDUSTRY  153 

in  Rousseau,  and  appear  in  the  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence of  1776.  Finally,  the  effort  to  find  in  nature  some 
basis  for  independence  and  freedom  is  given  a  new  turn 
by  Herbert  Spencer  when  he  points  to  the  instinct  for 
liberty  in  animals  as  well  as  in  human  beings  as  the  origin 
of  the  law  of  freedom. 

By  one  of  the  paradoxes  of  history,  the  principle  is  now 
most  often  invoked  in  favor  of  "vested  interests."  "Nat- 
ural" easily  loses  the  force  of  an  appeal  to  reason  and 
to  social  good,  and  becomes  merely  an  assertion  of  ancient 
usage,  or  precedent,  or  even  a  shelter  for  mere  selfish 
interests.  Natural  rights  in  property  may  be  invoked 
to  thwart  efforts  to  protect  life  and  health.  Individual- 
ism has  been  so  successful  in  asserting  rights  that  it  is 
now  apt  to  forget  that  there  are  no  rights  morally  except 
such  as  express  the  will  of  a  good  member  of  society.  But 
in  recognizing  possible  excesses  we  need  not  forget  the 
value  of  the  idea  of  rights  as  a  weapon  in  the  struggle 
in  which  the  moral  personality  has  gradually  won  its 
way.  The  other  side  of  the  story  has  been  the  growth 
of  responsibility.  The  gain  in  freedom  has  not  meant 
an  increase  in  disorder ;  it  has  been  marked  rather  by  gain 
in  peace  and  security,  by  an  increasing  respect  for  law, 
and  an  increasing  stability  of  government.  The  external 
control  of  force  has  been  replaced  by  the  moral  control 
of  duty. 

§  6.    INDIVIDUALISM  AS  AFFECTED  BY  THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF 
INDUSTRY,  COMMERCE,  AND  ART 

The  development  of  industry,  commerce,  and  art  affects 
the  moral  life  in  a  variety  of  ways,  of  which  three  are  of 
especial  importance  for  our  purpose. 

(1)  It  gives  new  interests,  and  new  opportunities  for 
individual  activity. 

(2)  This  raises  the  question  of  values.    Are  all  the  ac- 


154  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

tivities  good,  and  shall  one  satisfy  whatever  interest 
appeals  to  him,  or  are  some  better  than  others? — the  old 
question  of  "kinds  of  happiness." 

(3)  It  raises  further  the  question  of  sharing  and  dis- 
tribution. How  far  may  one  enjoy  the  goods  of  life  in 
an  exclusive  way  and  how  far  is  it  his  duty  to  share  with 
others  .f^  Do  society's  present  methods  of  industry,  com- 
merce, art,  and  education  distribute  these  goods  in  a 
just  manner.? 

The  examination  of  these  questions  will  be  made  in  Part 
III.  It  is  our  purpose  at  this  point  merely  to  indicate 
the  trend  of  the  moral  consciousness  with  regard  to  them. 

I.  The  Increasing  Power  and  Interests  of  the  Individ- 
ual.— Power  for  the  mediaeval  man  could  be  sought  in 
war  or  in  the  church;  interests  were  correspondingly  lim- 
ited. The  Crusades,  contact,  through  them  and  later 
through  commerce,  with  Arabian  civilization,  growing 
acquaintance  with  the  literature  and  art  of  Greece  and 
Rome,  were  effective  agencies  in  stimulating  the  modern 
development.  But  when  once  started  it  needed  but  the 
opportunities  of  sufficient  wealth  and  freedom  to  go  on. 
Art  and  letters  have  depicted  a  variety  and  richness  of 
experience  which  the  ancient  world  did  not  feel.  Shak- 
spere,  Rembrandt,  Bunyan,  Beethoven,  Goethe,  Balzac, 
Shelley,  Byron,  Hugo,  Wagner,  Ibsen,  Thackeray,  Eliot, 
Tolstoy,  to  name  almost  at  random,  reflect  a  wealth  of 
interests  and  motives  which  show  the  range  of  the  modern 
man.  Commerce  and  the  various  lines  of  industry  have 
opened  new  avenues  for  power.  No  one  can  see  the  palaces 
or  dwellings  of  Venice  or  the  old  Flemish  ports,  or  con- 
sider the  enormous  factories,  shops,  and  office  buildings 
of  to-day,  without  a  sense  of  the  accession  to  human 
power  over  nature  and  over  the  activities  of  fellow  men 
which  trade  and  industry  have  brought  with  them.  The 
use  of  money  instead  of  a  system  of  personal  service — • 
slavery   or   serfdom — ^has   not   only   made   it   possible   to 


INDIVIDUALISM  AFFECTED  BY  INDUSTRY  155 

have  men's  labor  without  owning  the  men,  it  has  aided  in 
a  vastly  more  effective  system  than  the  older  method 
allowed.  The  industrial  revolution  of  the  past  century 
has  had  two  causes:  one  the  use  of  machinery;  the  other 
the  combination  of  human  labor  which  this  makes  possi- 
ble. So  far  this  has  greatly  increased  the  power  of  the 
few  leaders,  but  not  of  the  many.  It  is  the  present  prob- 
lem to  make  possible  a  larger  opportunity  for  individual 
freedom  and  power. 

2.  The  Values  of  Art  and  Industry. — Are  all  these  wider 
interests  and  fuller  powers  good?  The  church  ideal 
and  the  class  ideal  already  described  gave  different 
answers.  The  class  ideal  of  gentleman  really  expressed  a 
form  of  self-assertion,  of  living  out  one's  powers  fully, 
and  this  readily  welcomed  the  possibilities  which  art  and 
its  enjoyment  afforded.^  The  gentleman  of  the  Renais- 
sance, the  cavalier  of  England,  the  noblesse  of  France, 
were  patrons  of  art  and  letters.  The  Romanticist  urged 
that  such  free  and  full  expression  as  art  afforded  was 
higher  than  morality  with  its  control  and  limitation.  The 
church  admitted  art  in  the  service  of  religion,  but  was 
chary  of  it  as  an  individual  activity.  The  Puritans 
were  more  rigorous.  Partly  because  they  associated  its 
churchly  use  with  what  they  regarded  as  "idolatry," 
partly  as  a  protest  against  the  license  in  manners  which 
the  freedom  of  art  seemed  to  encourage,  they  frowned 
upon  all  forms  of  art  except  sacred  literature  or  music. 
Their  condemnation  of  the  stage  is  still  an  element,  though 
probably  a  lessening  element,  and  it  is  not  long  since  fic- 
tion was  by  many  regarded  with  suspicion.  On  the  whole, 
the  modern  moral  consciousness  accepts  art  as  having  a 
place  in  the  moral  life,  although  it  by  no  means  follows 
that  art  can  be  exempt  from  moral  criticism  as  to  its  sin- 
cerity, healthfulness,  and  perspective. 

In  the  case  of  industry  the  church  ideal  has  prevailed. 
»  Tolstoy,  What  is  Art? 


156  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

The  class  ideal  of  gentleman  was  distinctly  opposed  to 
industry,  particularly  manual  labor.  "Arms"  or  the 
Court  was  the  proper  profession.  This  was  more  or  less 
bound  up  with  the  fact  that  in  primitive  conditions  labor 
was  mainly  performed  by  women  or  by  slaves.  It  was  the 
business,  the  "virtue"  of  men  to  fight.  So  far  as  this 
class  ideal  was  affected  by  the  models  of  ancient  culture, 
the  prejudice  was  strengthened.  The  classic  civilization 
rested  on  slave  labor.  The  ideal  of  the  gentleman  of 
Athens  was  the  free  employment  of  leisure,  not  active 
enterprise.  The  church,  on  the  other  hand,  maintained 
both  the  dignity  and  the  moral  value  of  labor.  Not  only 
the  example  of  the  Founder  of  Christianity  and  his  early 
disciples,  who  were  for  the  most  part  manual  laborers,  but 
the  intrinsic  moral  value  of  work,  already  referred  to, 
entered  into  the  appraisal.^  The  Puritans,  who  have  had 
a  wide-reaching  influence  upon  the  standards  of  the  middle 
and  lower  classes  of  England,  and  upon  the  northern  and 
western  portions  of  America,  were  insistent  upon  industry, 
not  merely  for  the  sake  of  its  products, — they  were  frugal 
in  their  consumption, — but  as  expressing  a  type  of  char- 
acter. Idleness  and  "shiftlessness"  were  not  merely  in- 
effective, they  were  sinful.  "If  any  will  not  work,  neither 
let  him  eat,"  commended  itself  thoroughly  to  this  moral 
ideal.  That  the  laborer  brought  something  to  the  common 
weal,  while  the  idler  had  to  be  supported,  was  a  reenforce- 
ment  to  the  motives  drawn  from  the  relation  of  work  to 
character.  As  the  middle  and  lower  classes  became  in- 
creasingly influential,  the  very  fact  that  they  were  laborers 
and  traders  strengthened  the  religious  ideal  by  a  class 
motive.  It  was  natural  that  a  laboring  class  should  regard 
labor  as  "honest,"  though  from  the  history  of  the  word 
such  a  collocation  of  terms  as  "honest  labor"  would  once 
have  been   as   absurd   as   "honest   villain."  ^      A   further 

^  P.  40. 

^  See  p.  176. 


INDIVIDUALISM  AFFECTED  BY  INDUSTRY  157 

influence  effective  in  America  has  been  the  fluidity  of  class 
distinctions  in  a  new  country.  The  "influence  of  the 
frontier"  has  been  all  on  the  side  of  the  value  of  work 
and  the  reprobation  of  idleness.  At  least  this  is  true  for 
men.  A  certain  tendency  has  been  manifest  to  exempt 
women  of  the  well-to-do  classes  from  the  necessity  of  labor, 
and  even  by  training  and  social  pressure  to  exclude  them 
from  the  opportunity  of  work,  and  make  of  them  a  "leisure 
class,"  but  this  is  not  likely  to  establish  itself  as  a  per- 
manent moral  attitude.  The  woman  will  not  be  content 
to  hve  in  "The  DolPs  House"  while  the  man  is  in  the 
real  work  of  the  world. 

3.  The  Distribution  of  the  Goods  of  Life. — Medieval 
society  made  provision  for  both  benevolence  and  justice. 
Charity,  the  highest  of  the  virtues,  had  come  to  mean 
specifically  the  giving  of  goods.  The  monasteries  re- 
lieved the  poor  and  the  infirm.  Hospitals  were  established. 
The  gentleman  felt  it  to  be  not  only  a  religious  duty,  but 
a  tradition  of  his  class  to  be  liberal.  To  secure  justice 
in  the  distribution  of  wealth,  various  restrictions  were 
imposed.  Goods  were  not  to  be  sold  for  whatever  they 
could  bring,  nor  was  money  to  be  loaned  at  whatever  rate 
of  interest  the  borrower  was  willing  to  pay.  Society 
aimed  to  find  out  by  some  means  what  was  a  "reasonable 
price"  for  products.  In  the  case  of  manufactured  goods 
this  could  be  fixed  by  the  opinion  of  fellow  craftsmen.  A 
"common  estimation,"  where  buyers  and  sellers  met  and 
bargained  in  an  open  market,  could  be  trusted  to  give  a 
fair  value.  A  maximum  limit  was  set  for  victuals  in 
towns.  Or,  again,  custom  prescribed  what  should  be  the 
money  equivalent  for  payments  formerly  made  in  kind, 
or  in  personal  service.^  Money-lending  was  under  especial 
guard.  To  ask  interest  for  the  use  of  money,  provided 
the  principal  was  returned  intact,  seemed  to  be  taking 
advantage  of  another's  necessity.  It  was  usury.  Class 
*  Cunningham,  An  Essay  on  Western  Civilizationj  pp.  77  ff. 


158  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

morality  added  a  different  kind  of  restrictions.  As  em- 
bodied in  the  laws,  it  bound  the  tenants  to  the  soil  and 
forbade  the  migration  of  laborers.  The  significant  thing 
in  the  whole  mediaeval  attitude  was  that  society  attempted 
to  control  business  and  industry  by  a  moral  standard.  It 
did  not  trust  the  individual  to  make  his  own  bargains  or 
to  conduct  his  business  as  he  pleased. 

Modern  Theory:  Free  Contract. — The  distinctive  fea- 
ture of  the  modern  development  has  been  the  tendency  to 
abandon  moral  restrictions  and  to  substitute  a  wage 
system,  freedom  of  exchange,  and  free  contract.  It  was 
maintained  by  the  advocates  of  the  new  method  that  it 
was  both  more  efficient  and  at  least  as  just  as  the  old. 
It  was  more  efficient  because  it  stimulated  every  one  to 
make  the  best  possible  bargain.  Surely  every  man  is  the 
most  interested,  and  therefore  the  best  promoter  of  his 
own  welfare.  And  if  each  is  getting  the  best  results  for 
himself,  the  good  of  the  whole  community  will  be  secured. 
For — so  ran  the  theory,  when  individualism  had  so  far 
advanced — society  is  simply  the  aggregate  of  its  mem- 
bers ;  the  good  of  all  is  the  sum  of  the  goods  of  the 
members.  The  system  also  claimed  to  provide  for  justice 
between  buyer  and  seller,  capitalist  and  laborer,  by  the 
agencies  noticed  in  the  next  paragraph. 

Competition. — To  prevent  extortionate  prices  on  the 
one  hand,  or  unduly  low  prices  or  wages  on  the  other, 
the  reliance  was  on  competition  and  the  general  principle 
of  supply  and  demand.  If  a  baker  charges  too  high  for 
his  bread,  others  will  set  up  shops  and  sell  cheaper.  If 
a  money-lender  asks  too  high  interest,  men  will  not  borrow 
or  will  find  a  loan  elsewhere.  If  a  wage  is  too  low,  labor 
will  go  elsewhere;  if  too  high,  capital  will  not  be  able 
to  find  a  profit  and  so  will  not  employ  labor — so  runs 
the  theory.  Without  analyzing  the  moral  value  of  the 
theory  at  this  point,  we  notice  only  that,  so  far  as  it 
assumes  to  secure  fair  bargains  and  a  just  distribution. 


INDIVIDUALISM  AFFECTED  BY  INDUSTRY  159 

it  assumes  the  parties  to  the  free  contract  to  be  really 
free.  This  implies  that  they  are  upon  nearly  equal  foot- 
ing. In  the  days  of  hand  work  and  small  industries  this 
was  at  least  a  plausible  assumption.  But  a  new  face  was 
placed  upon  the  situation  by  the  industrial  revolution. 

Problem  Raised  by  the  Industrial  Revolution. — The 
introduction  of  machinery  on  a  large  scale  near  the  end 
of  the  eighteenth  century  brought  about  a  change  which 
has  had  extraordinary  economic,  social,  and  moral  effects. 
The  revolution  had  two  factors :  ( 1 )  it  used  steam  power 
instead  of  human  muscle;  (2)  it  made  possible  the  greater 
subdivision  of  labor,  and  hence  it  made  it  profitable  to 
organize  large  bodies  of  men  under  a  single  direction.  Both 
these  factors  contributed  to  an  enormous  increase  in  pro- 
ductive power.  But  this  increase  made  an  overwhelming 
difference  in  the  status  of  capitalist  and  laborer.  With- 
out discussing  the  question  as  to  whether  capital  received 
more  than  a  "fair"  share  of  the  increased  profit,  it  was 
obvious  that  if  one  "Captain  of  Industry"  were  receiv- 
ing even  a  small  part  of  the  profits  earned  by  each  of  his 
thousand  workmen,  he  would  be  immeasurably  better  off 
than  any  one  of  them.  Like  the  mounted  and  armored 
knight  of  the  Middle  Ages,  or  the  baron  in  his  castle,  he 
was  more  than  a  match  for  a  multitude  of  poorly  equipped 
footmen.  There  seemed  to  be  in  the  nineteenth  century 
an  enormous  disproportion  between  the  shares  of  wealth 
which  fell  to  capitalist  and  to  laborer.  If  this  was  the 
result  of  "free  contract,"  what  further  proof  was  neces- 
sary that  "freedom"  was  a  mere  empty  term — a  name  with 
no  reality?  For  could  it  be  supposed  that  a  man  would 
freely  make  an  agreement  to  work  harder  and  longer  than 
any  slave,  receiving  scarcely  the  bare  necessities  of  exist- 
ence, while  the  other  party  was  to  gain  enormous  wealth 
from  the  bargain  ? 

The  old  class  morality  was  not  disturbed  by  such  con- 
trasts.    Even  the  religious  morality  was  apt  to  consider 


160  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

the  distinction  between  rich  and  poor  as  divinely  ordered, 
or  else  as  insignificant  compared  with  eternal  destiny  of 
weal  or  woe.  But  the  individualistic  movements  have  made 
it  less  easy  to  accept  either  the  class  morality  or  the  reli- 
gious interpretation.  The  latter  lends  itself  equally  well  to 
a  justification  of  disease  because  it  is  providentially  per- 
mitted. Moreover,  the  old  group  morality  and  religious 
ideal  had  this  in  their  favor:  they  recognized  an  obliga- 
tion of  the  strong  to  the  weak,  of  the  group  for  every 
member,  of  master  for  servant.  The  cash  basis  seemed  to 
banish  all  responsibiUty,  and  to  assert  the  law  of  "each 
for  himself"  as  the  supreme  law  of  life — except  so  far  as 
individuals  might  mitigate  suffering  by  voluntary  kind- 
ness. Economic  theory  seemed  to  show  that  wages  must 
always  tend  toward  a  starvation  level. 

Sympathy. — Such  tendencies  inevitably  called  out  re- 
sponse from  the  sentiments  of  benevolence  and  sympathy. 
For  the  spread  of  civilization  has  certainly  made  man  more 
sensitive  to  pain,  more  capable  of  sympathy  and  of  enter- 
ing by  imagination  into  the  situations  of  others.  It  is 
noteworthy  that  the  same  Adam  Smith  who  argued  so 
forcibl}^  the  cause  of  individualism  in  trade,  made  sym- 
pathy the  basis  of  his  moral  system.  Advance  in  sym- 
pathy has  shown  itself  in  the  abolition  of  judicial  torture, 
in  prison  reform,  in  the  improved  care  of  the  insane  and 
defective;  in  the  increased  provision  for  hospitals,  and 
asylums,  and  in  an  innumerable  multitude  of  organiza- 
tions for  relief  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men.  Mis- 
sions, aside  from  their  distinctly  ecclesiastical  aims,  rep- 
resent devotion  of  human  life  and  of  wealth  to  the  relief 
of  sickness  and  wretchedness,  and  to  the  education  of  chil- 
dren in  all  lands.  Sympathy  has  even  extended  to  the 
animal  world.  And  the  notable  fact  in  modern  sympathy 
and  kindness,  as  contrasted  with  the  mediaeval  type,  is 
that  the  growth  in  individuality  has  demanded  and  evoked 
a  higher  kind  of  benevolence.     Instead  of  fostering  de- 


INDIVIDUALISM  AFFECTED  BY  INDUSTRY  161 

pendence  and  relieving  wants,  the  best  modern  agencies  aim 
to  promote  independence,  to  set  the  man  upon  his  own 
feet  and  enable  him  to  achieve  self-respect.  "Social  settle- 
ments" have  been  strong  factors  in  bringing  about  this 
change  of  attitude. 

Justice. — Various  movements  looking  toward  greater 
justice  in  distribution  have  likewise  been  called  out  by 
the  conditions  since  the  industrial  revolution.  Naturally 
one  reaction  was  to  denounce  the  whole  individualistic 
tendency  as  represented  in  the  "cash-payment"  basis.  This 
found  its  most  eloquent  expositor  in  Carlyle.  His  Past 
and  Present  is  a  bitter  indictment  of  a  system  "in  which 
all  working  horses  could  be  well  fed,  and  innumerable 
workingmen  should  die  starved" ;  of  a  laissez-faire  theory 
which  merely  says  "impossible"  when  asked  to  remedy  evils 
supposedly  due  to  "economic  laws" ;  of  a  "Mammon  Gos- 
pel" which  transforms  life  into  a  mutual  hostility,  with 
its  laws-of-war  named  "fair  competition."  The  indictment 
is  convincing,  but  the  remedy  proposed — a  return  to  strong 
leaders  with  a  reestablishment  of  personal  relations — has 
rallied  few  to  its  support.  Another  reaction  against  in- 
dividualistic selfishness  has  taken  the  form  of  communism. 
Numerous  experiments  have  been  made  by  voluntary  asso- 
ciations to  establish  society  on  a  moral  basis  by  abolishing 
private  property.  "These  new  associations,"  said  Owen, 
one  of  the  most  ardent  and  generous  of  social  reformers, 
"can  scarcely  be  formed  before  it  will  be  discovered  that 
by  the  most  simple  and  easy  regulations  all  the  natural 
wants  of  human  nature  may  be  abundantly  supplied; 
and  the  principle  of  selfishness  will  cease  to  exist  for  want 
of  an  adequate  motive  to  produce  it." 

In  contrast  with  these  plans  for  a  return  to  earlier  con- 
ditions, the  two  most  conspicuous  tendencies  in  the  thought 
of  the  past  century  have  claimed  to  be  advancing  toward 
freedom  and  justice  along  the  lines  which  we  have  just 
traced.     The  one,  which  we  may  call  "individualistic"  re- 


162  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

form,  has  sought  justice  by  giving  free  play  to  individual 
action.  The  other,  sociahsm,  has  aimed  to  use  the  power 
of  the  State  to  secure  more  adequate  justice  and,  as  it 
believes,  a  more  genuine  freedom.  The  great  reform 
movement  in  Great  Britain  during  the  nineteenth  century 
emphasized  free  trade  and  free  contracts.  It  sought  the 
causes  of  injustice  in  the  survival  of  some  privilege  or 
vested  interest  which  prevents  the  full  working  of  the 
principles  of  free  contract  and  competition.  Let  every 
man  "count  as  one" ;  make  laws  for  "the  greatest  good 
of  the  greatest  number."  The  trouble  is  not  that  there 
is  too  much  individualism,  but  that  there  is  too  little. 
Tax  reformers  like  Henry  George  have  urged  the  same 
principle.  If  land  is  monopolized  by  a  few  who  can  levy 
a  toll  upon  all  the  rest  of  society,  how  can  justice  obtain.'* 
The  remedy  for  injustice  is  to  be  found  in  promoting 
greater  freedom  of  industry  and  trade.  Socialism  on  the 
other  hand  claims  that  individualism  defeats  itself;  it 
results  in  tyranny,  not  freedom.  The  only  way  to  secure 
freedom  is  through  united  action.  The  merits  of  some 
of  these  programs  for  social  justice  will  be  examined 
in  Part  III.  They  signify  that  the  age  is  finding  its 
moral  problem  set  anew  by  the  collision  between  material 
interests  and  social  good.  Greek  civilization  used  the  in- 
dustry of  the  many  to  set  free  the  higher  life — art,  gov- 
ernment, science — of  a  few.  The  mediaeval  ideal  recog- 
nized the  moral  value  of  industry  in  relation  to  character. 
The  modern  conscience,  resting  back  upon  a  higher  appre- 
ciation of  human  dignity  and  worth,  is  seeking  to  work 
out  a  social  and  economic  order  that  shall  combine  both 
the  Greek  and  the  mediaeval  ideas.  It  will  require  work 
and  secure  freedom.  These  are  necessary  for  the  indi- 
vidual person.  But  it  is  beginning  to  be  seen  that  these 
values  cannot  be  divided  so  that  one  social  class  shall  per- 
form the  labor  and  the  other  enjoy  the  freedom.  The 
growth  of  democracy  means  that  all  members  of  society 


THE  INDIVIDUAL  AND  INTELLIGENCE      163 

should  share  in  the  value  and  the  service  of  work.  It 
means  that  all  should  share  according  to  capacity  in  the 
values  of  free  life,  of  intelligence  and  culture.  Can  ma- 
terial goods  be  so  produced  and  distributed  as  to  promote 
this  democratic  ideal? 


§  6.    THE    INDIVIDUAL    x\ND    THE    DEVELOPMENT    OF 
INTELLIGENCE 

The  development  of  intelligence  in  the  modern  world, 
as  in  Greece,  has  two  sides:  on  the  one  hand,  a  working- 
free  from  the  restrictions  which  theology  or  the  State  or 
other  social  authorities  imposed;  on  the  other  hand,  posi- 
tive progress  in  knowledge  of  nature  and  of  human  life. 
Under  its  first  aspect  it  is  known  as  the  growth  of  rational- 
ism ;  under  its  second  aspect,  as  the  growth  of  science  and 
education.  We  cannot  separate  the  development  into  two 
periods,  the  one  negative,  the  other  positive,  as  was  con- 
venient in  the  case  of  Greece.  The  negative  and  the  posi- 
tive in  the  modern  world  have  gone  on  contemporaneously, 
although  the  emphasis  has  sometimes  been  on  one  side  and 
sometimes  upon  the  other.  We  may,  however,  indicate 
three  periods  as  standing  out  with  clearly  defined  charac- 
teristics. 

(1)  The  Renaissance,  in  which  the  Greek  spirit  of 
scientific  inquiry  found  a  new  birth ;  in  which  the  discovery 
of  new  continents  stimulated  the  imagination;  and  in 
which  new  and  more  fruitful  methods  of  investigation  were 
devised  in  mathematics  and  the  natural  sciences. 

(2)  The  period  of  the  Enlightenment,  in  which  the 
negative  aspect  of  the  process  reached  its  sharpest  defini- 
tion. The  doctrines  of  revealed  religion  and  natural  reli- 
gion were  criticised  from  the  standpoint  of  reason.  Mys- 
teries and  superstition  were  alike  rejected.  General  intel- 
ligence made  rapid  progress.    It  was  the  "Age  of  Reason." 

(3)  The  Nineteenth  Century,  in  which  both  the  natural 


164  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

and  social  sciences  underwent  an  extraordinary  devel- 
opment. The  doctrine  of  evolution  has  brought  a  new 
point  of  view  for  considering  the  organic  world  and  human 
institutions.  Education  has  come  to  be  regarded  as  both 
the  necessary  condition  for  the  safety  of  society  and  as 
the  right  of  every  human  being ;  Science,  in  large  measure 
set  free  from  the  need  of  fighting  for  its  right  to  exist, 
is  becoming  constructive;  it  is  assuming  increasingly  the 
duty  of  preserving  human  life  and  health,  of  utilizing 
and  preserving  natural  resources,  of  directing  political 
and  economic  affairs. 

I.  The  Renaissance. — It  would  be  giving  a  wrong  im- 
pression to  imply  that  there  was  no  inquiry,  no  use  of 
reason  in  the  mediaeval  world.  The  problems  set  by  the 
inheritance  of  old-world  religion  and  politics,  forced  them- 
selves upon  the  builders  of  castles  and  cathedrals,^  of  law 
and  of  dogma.  As  indicated  above,  the  universities  were 
centers  of  discussion  in  which  brilliant  minds  often  chal- 
lenged received  opinions.  Men  like  Roger  Bacon  sought 
to  discover  nature's  secrets,  and  the  great  scholastics 
mastered  Greek  philosophy  in  the  interest  of  defending 
the  faith.  But  theological  interest  limited  freedom  and 
choice  of  theme.  It  was  not  until  the  expansion  of  the 
individual  along  the  lines  already  traced — in  political  free- 
dom, in  the  use  of  the  arts,  in  the  development  of  com- 
merce— ^that  the  purely  intellectual  interest  such  as  had 
once  characterized  Greece  awoke.  A  new  world  of  pos- 
sibilities seemed  dawning  upon  the  Italian  Galileo,  the 
Frenchman  Descartes,  the  Englishman  Francis  Bacon. 
The  instruments  of  thought  had  been  sharpened  by  the 
dialectics  of  the  schools ;  now  let  them  be  used  to  analyze 
the  world  in  which  we  live.  Instead  of  merely  observ- 
ing nature  Galileo  applied  the  experimental  method,  put- 
ting definite  questions  to  nature  and  thus  preparing  the 

*  The  writer  is  indebted  to  his  colleague  Professor  Mead  for  the 
significance  of  this  for  the  beginnings  of  modern  science. 


THE  INDIVIDUAL  AND  INTELLIGENCE      165 

way  for  a  progress  step  by  step  toward  a  positive  knowl- 
edge of  nature's  laws.  Descartes  found  in  mathematics 
a  method  of  analysis  which  had  never  been  appreciated 
before.  What  seemed  the  mysterious  path  of  bodies  in 
curved  lines  could  be  given  a  simple  statement  in  his  ana- 
lytic geometry.  Leibniz  and  Newton  carried  this  method 
to  triumphant  results  in  the  analysis  of  forces.  Reason 
appeared  able  to  discover  and  frame  the  laws  of  the  uni- 
verse— the  "principles"  of  nature.  Bacon,  with  less  of 
positive  contribution  in  method,  sounded  another  note 
which  was  equally  significant.  The  human  mind  is  liable 
to  be  clouded  and  hindered  in  its  activities  by  certain 
inveterate  sources  of  error.  Like  deceitful  images  or  ob- 
sessions the  "idols"  of  the  tribe,  of  the  cave,  of  the 
market,  and  of  the  theater — due  to  instinct  or  habit, 
to  language  or  tradition — prevent  the  reason  from  doing 
its  best  work.  It  needs  vigorous  effort  to  free  the  mind 
from  these  idols.  But  this  can  be  done.  Let  man  turn 
from  metaphysics  and  theology  to  nature  and  life ;  let  him 
follow  reason  instead  of  instinct  or  prejudice.  "Knowl- 
edge is  power."  Through  it  may  rise  above  the  kingdom 
of  nature  the  "kingdom  of  man."  In  his  New  Atlantis, 
Bacon  foresees  a  human  society  in  which  skill  and  inven- 
tion and  government  shall  all  contribute  to  human  welfare. 
These  three  notes,  the  experimental  method,  the  power  of 
rational  analysis  through  mathematics,  and  the  possibil- 
ity of  controlling  nature  in  the  interests  of  man,  were 
characteristic  of  the  period. 

2.  The  Enlightenment. — A  conflict  of  reason  with  au- 
thority went  on  side  by  side  with  the  progress  of  science. 
Humanists  and  scientists  had  often  set  themselves  against 
dogma  and  tradition.  The  Reformation  was  not  in  form 
an  appeal  to  reason,  but  the  clash  of  authorities  stimu- 
lated men  to  reasoning  upon  the  respective  claims  of  Cath- 
olic and  Protestant.  And  in  the  eighteenth  century,  under 
the  favoring  influence  of  a  broad  toleration  and  a  gen- 


166  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

eral  growth  of  intelligence,  the  conflict  of  reason  with 
dogma  reached  its  culmination.  The  French  call  the 
period  ^T Illumination'' — the  illumination  of  life  and  ex- 
perience by  the  light  of  reason.  The  Germans  call  it  the 
Aufkldrung,  "the  clearing-up."  What  was  to  be  cleared 
up?  First,  ignorance,  which  limits  the  range  of  man's 
power  and  infects  him  with  fear  of  the  unknown;  then 
superstition,  which  is  ignorance  consecrated  by  wont  and 
emotion ;  finally,  dogma,  which  usually  embodies  irrational 
elements  and  seeks  to  force  them  upon  the  mind  by  the 
power  of  authority,  not  of  truth.  Nor  was  it  merely  a 
question  of  intellectual  criticism.  Voltaire  saw  that  dogma 
was  often  responsible  for  cruelty.  Ignorance  meant  belief 
in  witchcraft  and  magic.  From  the  dawn  of  civilization 
this  had  beset  man's  progress  and  quenched  many  of  the 
brightest  geniuses  of  the  past.  It  was  time  to  put  an 
end  once  for  all  to  the  remnants  of  primitive  credulity; 
it  was  time  to  be  guided  by  the  light  of  reason.  The 
movement  was  not  all  negative.  Using  the  same  appeal 
to  "nature,"  which  had  served  so  well  as  a  rallying  cry 
in  the  development  of  political  rights,  the  protagonists  of 
the  movement  spoke  of  a  "natural  light"  which  God  had 
placed  in  man  for  his  guidance — "the  candle  of  the  Lord 
set  up  by  himself  in  men's  minds,  which  it  is  impossible 
for  the  breath  or  power  of  man  wholly  to  extinguish." 
A  natural  and  rational  religion  should  take  the  place 
of  supposed  revelation. 

But  the  great  achievement  of  the  eighteenth  century  in 
the  intellectual  development  of  the  individual  was  that 
the  human  mind  came  to  realize  the  part  it  was  itself 
playing  in  the  whole  realm  of  science  and  conduct.  Man 
began  to  look  within.  Whether  he  called  his  work  an 
Essay  concerning  Human  Understanding,  or  a  Trea- 
tise of  Human  Nature,  or  a  Theory  of  Moral  Senti- 
ments, or  a  Critique  of  Pure  Reason,  the  aim  was 
to  study  human  experience.    For  of  a  sudden  it  was  dawn- 


THE  INDIVIDUAL  AND  INTELLIGENCE      167 

ing  upon  man  that,  if  he  was  then  Hvlng  upon  a  higher 
level  of  knowledge  and  conduct  than  the  animal  or  the 
savage,  this  must  be  due  to  the  activity  of  the  mind. 
It  appeared  that  man,  not  satisfied  with  "nature,"  had 
gone  on  to  build  a  new  world  with  institutions  and  mo- 
rality, with  art  and  science.  This  was  no  creation  of 
instinct  or  habit;  nor  could  it  be  explained  in  terms  of 
sense,  or  feeling,  or  impulse  alone;  it  was  the  work  of 
that  more  active,  universal,  and  creative  type  of  intelli- 
gence which  we  call  reason.  Man,  as  capable  of  such 
achievements  in  science  and  conduct,  must  be  regarded 
with  new  respect.  As  having  political  rights,  freedom, 
and  responsibility,  man  has  the  dignity  of  a  citizen, 
sovereign  as  well  as  subject.  As  guiding  and  controlling 
his  own  life  and  that  of  others  by  the  power  of  ideas,  not 
of  force,  he  has  the  dignity  of  a  moral  person,  a  moral 
sovereignty.  He  does  not  merely  take  what  nature  brings ; 
he  sets  up  ends  of  his  own  and  gives  them  worth.  In  this, 
Kant  saw  the  supreme  dignity  of  the  human  spirit. 

3.  The  Present  Significance  and  Task  of  Scientific 
Method. — In  the  thought  that  man  is  able  to  form  ends 
which  have  value  for  all,  to  set  up  standards  which  all 
respect,  and  thus  to  achieve  worth  and  dignity  in  the 
estimation  of  his  fellows,  the  Individualism  of  the  eight- 
eenth century  was  already  pointing  beyond  itself.  For 
this  meant  that  the  individual  attains  his  highest  reach 
only  as  a  member  of  a  moral  society.  But  it  is  one  thing 
to  point  out  the  need  and  meaning  of  a  moral  society,  it  is 
another  thing  to  bring  such  a  society  into  being.  It  has 
become  evident  during  the  past  century  that  this  is  the 
central  problem  for  human  reason  to  solve.  The  various 
social  sciences,  economics,  sociology,  political  science, 
jurisprudence,  social  psychology,  have  either  come  into 
being  for  the  first  time,  or  have  been  prosecuted  with  new 
energy.  Psychology  has  assumed  new  significance  as 
their  instrument.     Not  that  the  scientific  progress  of  the 


168  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 

century  has  seen  its  greatest  triumphs  in  these  fields.  The 
conspicuous  successes  have  been  rather  in  such  sciences 
as  biology,  or  in  the  applications  of  science  to  engineering 
and  medicine.  The  social  sciences  have  been  occupied 
largely  in  getting  their  problems  stated  and  their  methods 
defined.  But  the  discoveries  and  constructions  of  the 
nineteenth  century  are  none  the  less  indispensable  pre- 
requisites for  a  moral  society.  For  the  new  conditions  of 
city  life,  the  new  sources  of  disease,  the  new  dangers  which 
attend  every  successive  step  away  from  the  life  of  the 
savage,  demand  all  the  resources  of  the  sciences.^  And  as 
the  natural  sciences  overcome  the  technical  difiiculties 
which  obstruct  their  work  of  aiding  human  welfare,  the 
demand  will  be  more  insistent  that  the  social  sciences  con- 
tribute their  share  toward  enabling  man  to  fulfil  his  moral 
life.  Some  of  the  specific  demands  will  become  more  evi- 
dent, as  we  study  in  subsequent  chapters  the  present 
problems  of  political,  economic,  and  family  life. 

Education. — The  importance  for  the  moral  life  of  the 
modern  development  of  science  is  paralleled  by  the  signifi- 
cance of  modern  education.  The  universities  date  from 
the  Middle  Ages.  The  classical  interest  of  humanism  found 
its  medium  in  the  college  or  "grammar  school."     The  in- 

*  "Civilized  man  has  proceeded  so  far  in  his  interference  with 
extra-human  nature,  has  produced  for  himself  and  the  living  organ- 
isms associated  with  him  such  a  special  state  of  things  by  his  re- 
bellion against  natural  selection  and  his  defiance  of  Nature's  pre- 
human dispositions,  that  he  must  either  go  on  and  acquire  firmer 
control  of  the  conditions  or  perish  miserably  by  the  vengeance  certain 
to  fall  on  the  half-hearted  meddler  in  great  affairs.  .  .  .  We  may 
think  of  him  as  the  heir  to  a  vast  and  magnificent  kingdom  who  has 
been  finally  educated  so  as  to  fit  him  to  take  possession  of  his  prop- 
erty, and  is  at  length  left  alone  to  do  his  best;  he  has  wilfully 
abrogated,  in  many  important  respects,  the  laws  of  his  Mother  Nature 
by  which  the  kingdom  was  hitherto  governed;  he  has  gained  some 
power  and  advantage  by  so  doing,  but  is  threatened  on  every  hand 
by  dangers  and  disasters  hitherto  restrained:  no  retreat  is  possible — 
his  only  hope  is  to  control,  as  he  knows  that  he  can,  the  sources  of 
these  dangers  and  disasters.  They  already  make  him  wince:  how  long 
will  he  sit  listening  to  the  fairy-tales  of  his  boyhood  and  shrink 
from  manhood's  task?" — Ray  Lankester.  The  Kingdom  of  Man, 
1907,  pp.  31  f. 


THE  INDIVIDUAL  AND  INTELLIGENCE      169 

vention  of  printing  and  the  growth  of  commerce  promoted 
elementary  schools.  Supposed  necessities  of  popular  gov- 
ernment stimulated  a  general  educational  movement  in  the 
United  States.  Modern  trade  and  industry  have  called 
out  the  technical  school.  Germany  has  educated  for 
national  defense  and  economic  advance;  England  has  con- 
cerned itself  preeminently  for  the  education  of  statesmen 
and  administrators ;  and  the  United  States  for  the  edu- 
cation of  voters.  But,  whatever  the  motive,  education 
has  been  made  so  general  as  to  constitute  a  new  element 
in  the  modern  consciousness  and  a  new  factor  to  be  reck- 
oned with.  The  moral  right  of  every  child  to  have  an 
education,  measured  not  by  his  parents'  abilities,  but  by 
his  own  capacity,  is  gaining  recognition.  The  moral  value 
of  a  possession,  which  is  not,  like  material  goods,  exclu- 
sive, but  common,  will  be  more  appreciated  when  we 
have  worked  out  a  more  social  and  democratic  type  of 
training.^ 

Theoretical  Interpretation  of  this  Period  in  Ethical 
Systems. — While  the  theoretical  interpretation  of  this 
period  is  to  be  treated  in  Part  11. ,  we  may  point  out  here 
that  the  main  lines  of  development  which  we  have  traced 
find  expression  in  the  two  systems  which  have  been  most 
influential  during  the  past  century.  These  are  the  sys- 
tems of  Kant  and  of  the  Utilitarians.  The  political  and 
certain  aspects  of  the  intellectual  development  are  reflected 
in  the  system  of  Kant.  He  emphasized  freedom,  the  power 
and  authority  of  reason,  human  dignity,  the  supreme  value 
of  character,  and  the  significance  of  a  society  in  which 
every  member  is  at  once  sovereign  and  subject.  The  Utili- 
tarians represent  the  values  brought  out  in  the  development 
of  industry,  education,  and  the  arts.  They  claimed  that 
the  good  is  happiness,  and  happiness  of  the  greatest  num- 
ber. The  demands  for  individual  satisfaction  and  for 
social  distribution  of  goods  are  voiced  in  this  system. 
*  John  Dewey,  The  School  and  Society, 


170  THE  MODERN  PERIOD 


LITERATURE 


The  histories  of  philosophy  and  of  ethics  give  the  theoretical  side. 
In  addition  to  those  previously  mentioned  the  works  of  Hoffding, 
Falckenberg,  and  Fischer  may  be  named.  Stephen,  English  Thought 
in  the  Eighteenth  Century,  and  The  Utilitarians;  Fichte,  Character- 
istics of  the  Present  Age  (in  Popular  Works,  tr.  by  Smith) ;  Stein, 
Die  sociale  Frage  im  Lichte  der  Philosophic,  1897;  Comte,  Positive 
Philosophy,  tr.  by  Martineau,  1875,  Book  VI.  Tufts  and  Thompson, 
The  Individual  and  His  Relation  to  Society  as  Reflected  in  British 
Ethics,  1896,  1904;  Merz,  History  of  European  Thought  in  the  19th 
Century,  1904;  Robertson,  A  Short  History  of  Free  Thought,  1899; 
Bonar,  Philosophy  and  Political  Economy  in  Some  of  Their  His- 
torical Relations,  1893. 

On  the  Medl^val  akd  Rexatssastce  Attitude:  Lecky,  History 
of  European  Morals,  3rd  ed.,  1877;  Adams,  Civilization  during  th& 
Middle  Ages,  1895;  Rashdall,  The  Universities  of  Europe  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  1895;  Eicken,  Geschichte  und  System  der  mittelalterlichen 
Weltanschauung,  1877;  Burckhardt,  The  Civilization  of  the  Renais- 
sance in  Italy,  1892;  Draper,  History  of  the  Intellectual  Develop^ 
ment  of  Europe,  1876. 

On  the  Ixdustrial  and  Social  Side:  Ashley,  English  Economic 
History;  Cunningham,  Western  Civilization  in  Its  Economic  Aspects, 
1900;  and  GrowtJi  of  English  Industry  and  Commerce,  3rd  ed.,  1896- 
1903;  Hobson,  The  Evolution  of  Modern  Capitalism,  1894;  Traill, 
Social  England,  1894;  Rambaud,  Histoire  de  Civilization  Franqaise, 
1897;  Held,  Zwei  Biicher  zur  socialen  Geschichte  Englands,  1881; 
Carlyle,  Past  and  Present;  Ziegler,  Die  Geistigen  und  socialen  Stro- 
Tnungen  des  neunzehnten  Jahrhunderts,  1901. 

On  the  Political  and  Jural  Development:  Hadley,  Freedom  and 
Responsibility  in  the  Evolution  of  Democratic  Government,  1903; 
Pollock,  The  Expansion  of  the  Common  Lata,  1904;  Ritchie,  Natural 
Rights,  1895;  Darwin  and  Hegel,  1893,  ch.  vii.;  Dicey,  Lectures  on 
the  Relation  of  Law  and  Public  Opinion  in  England  during  the 
Nineteenth  Century,  1905. 

On  the  Literary  Side:  Brandes,  The  Main  Currents  in  the  Litera- 
ture of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  1905;  Francke,  Social  Forces  in  Ger- 
m,an  Literature,  1895;  Carriere,  Die  Kunst  im  Zusammenhang  der 
Culturentwicklung  und  die  Ideale  der  Menschheit,  3rd  ed.,  1877-86. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  GENERAL  COMPARISON  OF  CUSTOMARY  AND 
HEFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

To  eat  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  the  knowledge  of 
good  and  evil  may  result  in  ultimate  gain.  A  more 
conscious  and  individualistic  attitude  may  result  in  definite 
conceptions  of  duty  and  rights,  of  values  and  ideals.  At 
the  same  time,  as  humanity's  eyes  have  been  opened  and  its 
•wisdom  increased,  many  forms  of  nakedness  unknown  in 
ruder  conditions  have  been  disclosed.  With  every  in- 
crease of  opportunity  and  efficiency  for  good  there  is  a 
corresponding  opportunity  for  evil.  An  immensely  more 
complex  environment  gives  scope  for  correspondingly  more 
capable  and  subtle  personalities.  Some  will  react  to  the 
situation  in  such  a  way  as  to  rise  to  a  higher  moral  level, 
both  in  personal  integrity  and  in  public  usefulness.  Others 
will  find  in  facilities  for  gratifying  some  appetite  or 
passion  a  temptation  too  strong  for  their  control  and 
will  become  vicious,  or  will  seize  the  chances  to  exploit 
others  and  become  unjust  in  their  acquirement  and  use  of 
power  and  wealth.  There  will  be  a  Nero  as  well  as  an 
Aurelius,  a  Caesar  Borgia  as  well  as  a  Savonarola,  a 
Jeffreys  as  well  as  a  Sidney,  a  Bentham,  or  a  Howard. 
For  an  Eliot  or  a  Livingston  or  an  Armstrong,  there  are 
the  exploiters  of  lower  races ;  and  for  an  Elizabeth  Fry, 
the  women  who  trade  in  the  wretchedness  of  their  kind. 
By  the  side  of  those  who  use  great  abilities  and  resources 
Xmselfishly  are  those  who  view  indifferently  the  sacrifice 
of  human  health  or  life,  and  pay  no  heed  to  human  misery. 
Such  contrasts  show  that  the  "evolution  of  morality"  is 

171 


m  CUSTOMARY  AND  REFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

also  an  evolution  of  weakness,  wretchedness,  evil,  and  crime. 
They  suggest  some  general  comparisons  between  custom 
and  reflective  morality.  They  require  from  every  age  a 
renewed  analysis  of  conduct  and  the  social  system.  As  a 
preliminary  to  such  an  analysis,  we  review  in  this  chapter 
some  of  the  general  relations  between  the  morality  of  cus- 
tom and  the  morality  of  reflection. 

§  1.    ELEMENTS  OF  AGREEMENT  AND  CONTINUITY 

The  moral  life  shows  its  continuity  in  two  ways.  First, 
the  earlier  type  of  group  and  customary  morality  persists 
in  part;  in  the  second  place,  when  the  moral  is  diff^eren- 
tiated  from  the  other  spheres  of  life  in  which  it  was  em- 
bedded, it  does  not  have  to  find  entirely  new  conceptions- 
It  borrows  its  terms  from  the  group  life  or  from  the  vari- 
ous spheres,  religious,  political,  aesthetic,  economic,  which 
separate  out  from  the  older  group  unity. 

The  following  quotation  from  Grote  will  serve  as  a  vivid 
restatement  of  the  regime  of  custom : 

"This  aggregate  of  beliefs  and  predispositions  to  believe, 
Ethical,  Religious,  ^sthetical^  and  Social,  respecting  what  is^ 
true  or  false,  probable  or  improbable,  just  or  unjust,  holy 
or  unholy,  honorable  or  base,  respectable  or  contemptible, 
pure  or  impure,  beautiful  or  ugly,  decent  or  indecent,  obliga- 
tory to  do  or  obligatory  to  avoid,  respecting  the  status  and 
relations  of  each  individual  in  the  society,  respecting  even  the 
admissible  fashions  of  amusement  and  recreation — this  is  an 
established  fact  and  condition  of  things,  the  real  origin  of 
which  is  for  the  most  part  unknown,  but  which  each  new 
member  of  the  group  is  born  to  and  finds  subsisting.  ...  It 
becomes  a  part  of  each  person's  nature,  a  standing  habit  of 
mind,  or  fixed  set  of  mental  tendencies,  according  to  which 
particular  experience  is  interpreted  and  particular  persons 
appreciated.  .  .  .  The  community  hate,  despise  or  deride  any 
individual  member  who  proclaims  his  dissent  from  their  social 
creed.  .  .  .  Their  hatred  manifests  itself  in  different  ways 
...  at  the  very  least  by  exclusion  from  that  amount  of  for- 
bearance, good  will  and  estimation  without  which  the  life  of 


AGREEMENT  AND  CONTINUITY  173 

an  individual  becomes  insupportable.  .  .  .  'Nomos  (Law  and 
Custom)^  king  of  all'  (to  borrow  the  phrase  which  Herodotus 
cites  from  Pindar)  exercises  plenary  power,  spiritual  and 
temporal,  over  individual  minds;  moulding  the  emotions  as 
well  as  the  intellect,  according  to  the  local  type  .  .  .  and 
reigning  under  the  appearance  of  habitual,  self-suggested 
tendencies."  ^ 

The  important  facts  brought  out  are  (1)  the  existence 
in  a  social  group  of  certain  habits  not  only  of  acting,  but 
of  feeling  and  believing  about  actions,  of  valuing  or  ap- 
proving and  disapproving.  (2)  The  persistent  forcing 
of  these  mental  habitudes  upon  the  attention  of  each  new 
member  of  the  group.  The  newcomer,  whether  by  birth 
or  adoption,  is  introduced  into  a  social  medium  whose 
conditions  and  regulations  he  can  no  more  escape  than 
he  can  those  of  his  physical  environment.  (3)  Thus  the 
mental  and  practical  habits  of  the  newly  introduced  indi- 
vidual are  shaped.  The  current  ways  of  esteeming  and 
behaving  in  the  community  become  a  "standing  habit"  of 
his  own  mind ;  they  finally  reign  as  "habitual,  self-suggested 
tendencies."  Thus  he  becomes  a  full  member  of  the  social 
group,  interested  in  the  social  fabric  to  which  he  belongs, 
and  ready  to  do  his  part  in  maintaining  it. 

I.  Persistence  of  Group  Morality. — Comparing  this 
state  of  affairs  with  what  obtains  to-day  in  civilized  com- 
munities, we  find  certain  obvious  points  of  agreement.  The 
social  groups  with  which  an  individual  comes  in  touch  are 
now  more  numerous  and  more  loosely  formed.  But  every- 
where there  are  customs  not  only  of  acting,  but  of  thinking 
and  feeling  about  acting.  Each  profession,  each  insti- 
tution, has  a  code  of  which  the  individual  has  to  take  ac- 
count. The  nature  of  this  code,  unexpressed  as  well  as 
formulated,  is  brought  to  the  attention  of  the  individual 
in  countless  ways ;  by  the  approval  and  disapproval  of  its 
public  opinion;  by  his  own  failures  and  successes;  by  his 

*  Grote,  Plato  and  the  Other  Companiom  of  Sokrates,  Vol.  I.,  p. 
249. 


174  CUSTOMARY  AND  REFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

own  tendency  to  imitate  what  he  sees  about  him,  as  well  as 
by  deliberate,  intentional  instruction. 

In  other  words,  group  morality  does  not  vanish  in  order 
that  conscious  and  personal  morality  may  take  its  place. 
Group  and  customary  morality  is  still  the  morality  of  many 
of  us  most  of  the  time,  and  of  all  of  us  for  a  good  deal 
of  the  time.  We  do  not  any  of  us  think  out  all  of  our 
standards,  weigh  independently  our  values,  make  all  our 
choices  in  a  rational  manner,  or  form  our  characters  by 
following  a  clearly  conceived  purpose.  As  children  we 
all  start  in  a  family  group.  We  continue  in  a  school 
group  and  perhaps  a  church  group.  We  enter  an  occu- 
pation group,  and  later,  it  may  be,  family,  political,  social, 
and  neighborhood  groups.  In  every  one  of  these  if  we  are 
members,  we  must  to  a  certain  degree  accept  standards 
that  are  given.  We  have  to  play  according  to  the  rules 
of  the  game.  As  children  we  do  this  unconsciously.  We 
imitate,  or  follow  suggestions ;  we  are  made  to  conform 
by  all  the  agencies  of  group  morality — group  opinion, 
ritual,  pleasure  and  pain,  and  even  by  taboos t^  above  all, 
we  act  as  the  others  act,  and  cooperate  more  or  less  to 
a  common  end.  We  form  habits  which  persist,  many  of 
them  as  long  as  we  live.  We  accept  many  of  the  tradi- 
tions without  challenge.  Even  when  we  pass  from  the 
early  family  group  to  the  new  situations  and  surround- 
ings which  make  us  repeat  more  or  less  of  the  experience 
of  the  race,  a  large  share  of  our  conduct  and  of  our 
judgments  of  others  is  determined  by  the  influences  of 
group  and  custom.    And  it  is  fortunate  for  progress  that 

*  Nearly  every  railway  journey  or  other  occasion  for  observing 
family  discipline  discloses  the  prevalence  of  this  agency  of  savage 
morality.  "If  you  are  not  quiet  I'll  give  you  to  the  conductor," 
"the  black  man  will  get  you,"  "Santa  Claus  will  not  give  presents 
to  naughty  children."  That  persons  who  in  many  respects  are  kindly 
and  decent  should  aim  to  cultivate  morality  by  a  system  of  delib- 
erate lying  and  more  or  less  brutal  cruelty  is  one  of  the  interesting 
phenomena  of  education.  The  savages  who  used  taboos  believed  what 
they  said. 


AGREEMENT  AND  CONTINUITY  175 

this  is  true.  If  every  one  had  to  start  anew  to  frame 
all  his  ideals  and  make  his  laws,  we  should  be  in  as  melan- 
choly a  plight  morally  as  we  should  be  intellectually  if 
we  had  to  build  each  science  anew.  The  fundamental  safe- 
guards which  the  group  provides  against  individual  im- 
pulse and  passion,  the  condition  of  close  association,  inter- 
dependence and  mutual  sympathy  which  the  group  affords, 
the  habituation  to  certain  lines  of  conduct  valued  by  the 
group — all  this  is  a  root  on  which  the  stem  and  flower  of 
personal  morality  may  grow.  Individualism  and  intel- 
lectual activity,  however  necessary  to  man's  progress,  would 
give  no  morality  did  they  not  start  out  of  this  deeper 
level  of  common  feeling  and  common  destiny.  The  ra- 
tional and  personal  agencies  of  the  "third  level"  come  not 
to  destroy,  but  to  fulfill  the  meaning  of  the  forces  and 
agencies  of  the  first  and  second  levels  described  in  Chapters 
III  and  IV. 

2.  The  Moral  Conceptions.— The  conceptions  for  the 
moral  are  nearly  all  taken  from  the  group  relations  or 
from  the  jural  and  religious  aspects,  as  these  have  been 
gradually  brought  to  clearer  consciousness.  As  already 
noted,  the  Greek  term  "ethical,"  the  Latin  "moral,"  the 
German  ^^sittlich^'*  suggest  this — ethos  meant  the  "sum  of 
the  characteristic  usages,  ideas,  standards,  and  codes  by 
which  a  group  was  differentiated  and  individualized  in 
character  from  other  groups."  ^ 

Some  specific  moral  terms  come  directly  from  group 
relations.  The  "kind"  man  acts  as  one  of  the  kin.  When 
the  ruling  or  privileged  group  is  contrasted  with  the  man 
of  no  family  or  of  inferior  birth,  we  get  a  large  number 
of  terms  implying  "superiority"  or  "inferiority"  in  birth, 
and  so  of  general  value.  This  may  or  may  not  be  due 
to  some  inherent  superiority  of  the  upper  class,  but  it 
means  at  least  that  the  upper  class  has  been  most  effectual 
in  shaping  language  and  standards  of  approval.  So 
^  Sumner,  Folkways,  p.  36. 


176  CUSTOMARY  AND  REFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

"noble"  and  "gentle"  referred  to  birth  before  they  had 
moral  value;  "duty"  in  modern  usage  seems  to  have  been 
principally  what  was  due  to  a  superior.  Many  words  for 
moral  disapproval  are  very  significant  of  class  feeling. 
The  "caitiff"  was  a  captive,  and  the  Italians  have  their 
general  term  for  morally  bad,  "cattivOy^^  from  the  same 
idea.  The  "villain"  was  a  feudal  tenant,  the  "black- 
guard" looked  after  the  kettles,  the  "rascal"  was  one  of 
the  common  herd,  the  "knave"  was  the  servant ;  the  "base" 
and  "mean"  were  opposed  to  the  gentle  and  noble.  An- 
other set  of  conceptions  reflects  the  old  group  approvals 
or  combines  these  with  conceptions  of  birth.  We  have 
noted  the  twofold  root  of  kalokagathia  in  Greek.  "Honor" 
and  "honesty"  were  what  the  group  admired,  and  con- 
versely **aischros^'  and  ^Hurpe'*  in  Greek  and  Latin,  like 
the  English  "disgraceful"  or  "shameful,"  were  what  the 
group  condemned.  "Virtue"  was  the  manly  excellence 
which  called  out  the  praise  of  a  warlike  time,  while  one 
of  the  Greek  terms  for  morally  bad  originally  meant 
cowardly,  and  our  "scoundrel"  has  possibly  the  same 
origin.  The  "bad"  was  probably  the  weak  or  the  woman- 
ish. The  economic  appears  in  "merit,"  what  I  have  earned, 
and  likewise  in  "duty"  and  "ought,"  what  is  due  or  owed — 
though  duty  seems  to  huve  made  itself  felt  especially,  as 
noted  above,  toward  a  superior.  Forethought  and  skill 
in  practical  affairs  provided  the  conception  of  "wisdom," 
which  was  highest  of  the  virtues  for  the  Greeks,  and  as 
"prudence"  stood  high  in  mediaeval  systems.  The  con- 
ception of  valuing  and  thus  of  forming  some  permanent 
standard  of  a  better  and  a  worse,  is  also  aided,  if  not 
created,  by  economic  exchange.  It  appears  in  almost 
identical  terms  in  Plato  and  the  New  Testament  in  the 
challenge,  "What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole 
world  and  lose  his  own  life.?"  *  From  the  processes  of  fine 
or  useful  arts  came  probably  the  conceptions  of  measure, 
*  Plato's  wording  is  given  on  p.  132. 


ELEMENTS  OF  CONTRAST  177 

order,  and  harmony.  A  whole  mode  of  considering  the 
moral  life  is  jural.  "Moral  law,"  "authority,"  "obliga- 
tion," "responsibility,"  "justice,"  "righteousness,"  bring 
with  them  the  associations  of  group  control  and  of  the  more 
definitely  organized  government  and  law.  Finally  the  last 
named  terms  bear  also  a  religious  imprint,  and  numerous 
conceptions  of  the  moral  come  from  that  sphere  or  get  their 
specific  flavor  from  religious  usage.  The  conceptions  of  the 
"soul"  have  contributed  to  the  ideal  of  a  good  which  is  per- 
manent, and  which  is  made  rather  by  personal  compan- 
ionship, than  by  sensuous  gratification.  "Purity"  began 
as  a  magical  and  religious  idea;  it  came  to  symbolize 
not  only  freedom  from  contamination  but  singleness  of 
purpose.  "Chastity"  lends  a  religious  sacredness  to  a 
virtue  which  had  its  roots  largely  in  the  conception  of 
property.     "Wicked"  is  from  witch. 

We  have  indeed  certain  conceptions  drawn  from  individ- 
ual experiences  of  instinct,  or  reflection.  From  the  sense 
recoil  from  what  was  disgusting  such  conceptions  as  "foul," 
and  from  kindred  imagery  of  what  suits  eye  or  muscular 
sense  come  "straightforward,"  "upright,"  "steady." 
From  the  thinking  process  itself  we  have  "conscience." 
This  word  in  Greek  and  Latin  was  a  general  term  for 
consciousness  and  suggests  one  of  the  distinctive,  perhaps 
the  most  distinctive  characteristic  of  the  moral.  For  it 
imphes  a  "conscious"  thoughtful  attitude,  which  operates 
not  only  in  forming  purposes,  but  in  measuring  and  valu- 
ing action  by  the  standards  it  approves.  But  it  is  evident 
that  by  far  the  larger  part  of  our  ethical  terms  are  de- 
rived from  social  relations  in  the  broad  sense. 


§  2.    EI.EMENTS  OF  CONTRAST 

Differentiation  of  the  Moral. — The  most  obvious  dif- 
ference between  the  present  and  the  early  attitude  is  that 
we  now  make  a  clear  distinction  between  the  moral  aspect 


178  CUSTOMARY  AND  REFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

of  behavior  and  other  aspects  such  as  the  conventional, 
the  political,  the  legal ;  while  in  customary  morality  all  ac- 
tivities esteemed  by  society  were  put  upon  the  same  level  and 
enforced  with  the  same  vigor.  Matters  which  we  should 
regard  as  purely  matters  of  fashion  or  etiquette,  or  as 
modes  of  amusement,  such  as  styles  of  wearing  the  hair, 
were  imperative.  To  mutilate  the  body  in  a  certain  way 
was  as  exigent  as  to  observe  certain  marriage  cus- 
toms; to  refrain  from  speaking  to  the  mother-in-law  as 
binding  as  to  obey  the  chieftain;  not  to  step  over  the 
shadow  of  the  chief  was  even  more  important  than  not  to 
murder  the  member  of  another  tribe.  In  general  we  make 
a  clear  distinction  between  "manners"  and  morals,  while 
in  customary  morality  manners  are  morals,  as  the  very 
words  "ethical,"  "moral"  still  testify. 

When  Grote  speaks  of  "Ethical,  Religious,  ^sthetical, 
and  Social"  beliefs,  the  term  "ethical"  belongs  with  the 
other  terms  only  from  a  modern  standpoint.  The  charac- 
teristic thing  about  the  condition  of  which  he  is  speaking 
is  that  the  "religious,  aesthetical,  and  social"  beliefs 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  individual  constitute  the  eth- 
ical. We  make  the  distinction  between  them  as  naturally 
as  the  regime  of  custom  failed  to  make  it.  Only  by  imag- 
ining a  social  set  in  which  failure  to  observe  punctiliously 
the  fashions  of  the  set  as  to  the  proper  style  of  dress 
makes  the  person  subject  to  a  disparagement  which  influ- 
ences his  feelings  and  ideas  as  keenly  and  in  the  same 
way  as  conviction  of  moral  delinquency,  can  we  real- 
ize the  frame  of  mind  characteristic  of  the  ethics  of 
custom. 

Observing  versus  Reflecting. — Customs  may  be  "ob- 
served." Indeed,  customary  morality  made  goodness  or 
rightness  of  character  practically  identical  with  observing 
the  established  order  of  social  estimations  in  all  depart- 
ments. This  word  observe  is  significant :  it  means  to  note, 
or  notice  as  matter  of  fact,  by  perception ;  and  it  means 


ELEMENTS  OF  CONTRAST  179 

to  yield  allegiance,  to  conform  to,  in  action/  The  element 
of  intelligence,  of  reason,  is  thus  reduced  to  a  minimum. 
The  moral  values  are  there^  so  to  speak,  palpably,  tan- 
gibly ;  and  the  individual  has  only  to  use  his  mind  enough 
to  notice  them.  And  since  they  are  forced  upon  his  notice 
by  drastic  and  unrelaxing  methods  of  discipline,  little  ini- 
tiative is  required  for  even  the  attitude  of  attention.  But 
when  the  moral  is  something  which  is  in  customs  and 
habits,  rather  than  those  customs  themselves,  the  good  and 
right  do  not  stand  out  in  so  obvious  and  external  fashion. 
Recognition  now  demands  thought,  reflection ;  the  power  of 
abstraction  and  generalization.  A  child  may  be  shown  in 
a  pretty  direct  and  physical  fashion  the  difference  be- 
tween meum  and  tuum  in  its  bearing  upon  his  conduct: 
a  fence  may  be  pointed  at  which  divides  his  yard  from  that 
of  a  neighbor  and  which  draws  as  well  the  moral  line  be- 
tween what  is  permissible  and  what  is  forbidden;  a  whip- 
ping may  intensify  the  observation.  But  modern  busi- 
ness knows  also  of  ''intangible"  property — good  will,  repu- 
tation, credit.  These,  indeed,  can  be  bought  and  sold  but 
the  detection  of  their  existence  and  nature  demands  an  in- 
telligence which  is  more  than  perception.  The  greater 
number  of  duties  and  rights  of  which  present  morality 
consists  are  of  just  this  type.  They  are  relations,  not  just 
outward  habits.  Their  acknowledgment  requires  accord- 
ingly something  more  than  just  to  follow  and  reproduce 
existing  customs.  It  involves  power  to  see  why  certain 
habits  are  to  be  followed,  what  makes  a  thing  good  or  bad. 
Conscience  is  thus  substituted  for  custom;  principles  take 
the  place  of  external  rules. 

This  is  what  we  mean  by  calling  present  morahty  reflect- 
ive rather  than  customary.  It  is  not  that  social  customs 
have  ceased  to  be,  or  even  have  been  reduced  in  number. 
The  exact  contrary  is  the  case.     It  is  not  that  they  have 

*  "Recognition"  has  the  same  double  sense.  So  has  "acknowledg- 
ment," with  greater  emphasis  upon  rendering  allegiance  in  action. 


180  CUSTOMARY  AND  REFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

shrunk  in  importance,  or  that  they  have  less  significance 
for  the  individual's  activity,  or  claim  less  of  his  attention. 
Again,  the  reverse  is  the  case.  But  the  individual  has  to 
grasp  the  meaning  of  these  customs  over  and  above  the 
bare  fact  of  their  existence,  and  has  to  guide  himself  by 
their  meaning  and  not  by  the  mere  fact  noted.^ 

Custom  is  Static. — This  difference  introduces  a  second 
very  important  difference.  In  customary  morality,  there 
is  no  choice  between  being  enmeshed  in  the  net  of  social 
rules  which  control  activity,  and  being  an  outlaw — one  be- 
yond the  pale,  whose  hand  is  against  every  man's,  and 
every  man's  against  him.  The  extent  to  which  social  cus- 
toms are  regarded  as  of  divine  origin  and  are  placed  under 
the  protection  of  the  gods,  i.e.,  the  tendency  of  all  sanc- 
tions to  become  religious  and  supernatural,  is  evidence  of 
the  binding  force  of  institutions  upon  the  individual.  To 
violate  them  is  impiety,  sacrilege,  and  calls  down  the  wrath 
of  gods,  as  well  as  of  men.  The  custom  cannot  be  ques- 
tioned. To  inquire  means  uncertainty,  and  hence  it  is  im- 
moral, an  attack  upon  the  very  foundations  of  the  life  of 
the  group.  The  apparent  exception,  which  after  all  ex- 
hibits the  rule,  is  the  case  of  great  reforming  heroes  who 
demarcate  epochs  of  history  even  in  customary  societies. 
Such  individuals  meet  contemporary  opposition  and  perse- 
cution; it  is  only  by  victory,  by  signal  success  over  a 
rival  faction  at  home,  over  plague  and  famine,  or  over  an 
enemy  abroad,  that  the  hero  is  justified.  Thereby  it  is 
proved  that  the  gods  are  with  him  and  sanction  his 
changes — indeed  that  he  is  their  own  chosen  instrument. 
Then  the  modified  or  new  customs  and  institutions  have 
all  the  binding  sacredness  and  supernatural  sanction  of 
the  old.  It  is  not  yet  an  outgrown  story  for  the  fathers 
to  kill  the  prophets,  and  for  the  sons  to  build  and  adorn 
their  tombs,  and  make  them  into  shrines. 

^  Logically,  this  means  that  intelligence  works  conceptually,  not 
perceptually  alone. 


ELEMENTS  OF  CONTRAST  181 

Reflection  Discovers  a  Higher  Law. — But  in  so  far 
as  the  individual's  activity  is  directed  by  his  comprehen- 
sion of  the  meaning  of  customs,  not  by  his  apprehension  of 
their  existence,  so  far  the  notion  of  moral  progress  or  re- 
form in  social  affairs  becomes  ethically  important  and 
greater  moral  responsibility  is  put  upon  the  individual 
just  as  greater  practical  freedom  is  secured  to  him.  For 
(a)  the  individual  may  set  the  meaning  of  a  custom  against 
its  present  form;  or  (b)  he  may  find  the  meaning  of 
some  custom  much  more  commanding  in  value  than  that  of 
others,  and  yet  find  that  its  realization  is  hindered  by  the 
existence  of  these  other  customs  of  less  moral  importance. 
On  the  basis  of  such  discrimination,  the  abolition  or,  at 
least,  the  modification  of  certain  social  habits  is  demanded. 
So  far  as  this  sort  of  situation  frequently  recurs,  the  indi- 
vidual (c)  becomes  more  or  less  vaguely  aware  that  he 
must  not  accept  the  current  standard  as  justification  of 
his  own  conduct,  unless  it  also  justify  itself  to  his  own 
moral  intelligence.  The  fact  that  it  exists  gives  it  indeed 
a  certain  prima  facie  claim,  but  no  ultimate  moral  war- 
rant. Perhaps  the  custom  is  itself  wrong — and  the  indi- 
vidual is  responsible  for  bearing  this  possibility  in  mind. 

Consequent  Transformation  of  Custom.  —  Of  course 
the  plane  of  customary  morality  still  persists ;  no  whole- 
sale divergence  of  reflective  from  customary  morality  ex- 
ists. Practically,  for  example,  many  business  men  do  not 
bother  themselves  about  the  morality  of  certain  ways  of  do- 
ing business.  Such  and  such  is  the  custom  of  the  trade,  and 
if  a  man  is  going  to  do  business  at  all  he  must  follow  its 
customs — or  get  out.  Law,  medicine,  the  ministry,  journal- 
ism, family  life,  present,  in  considerable  extent,  the  same 
phenomenon.  Customary  morality  persists,  almost  as  the 
core  of  present  morality.  But  there  is  still  a  difference. 
A  few,  at  least,  are  actively  engaged  in  a  moral  criticism 
of  the  custom,  in  a  demand  for  its  transformation ;  and  al- 
most everybody  is  sufficiently  affected  by  the  discussions 


182  CUSTOMARY  AND  DEFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

and  agitations  thus  called  out  to  have  some  lingering  and 
uneasy  idea  of  responsibility  for  his  part  in  the  main- 
tenance of  a  questionable  custom.  The  duty  of  some  exer- 
cise of  discriminating  intelligence  as  to  existing  customs 
for  the  sake  of  improvement  and  progress,  is  thus  a  mark 
of  reflective  morality — of  the  regime  of  conscience  as  over 
against  custom.  In  the  morally  more  advanced  members 
of  contemporary  society,  the  need  of  fostering  a  habit  of 
examination  and  judgment,  of  keeping  the  mind  open, 
sensitive,  to  the  defects  and  the  excellences  of  the  exist- 
ing social  order  is  recognized  as  obligation.  To  reflect 
on  one's  own  behavior  in  relation  to  the  existing  order  is  a 
standing  habit  of  mind. 

Deepening  of  Meaning. — While  the  materials  and  con- 
ceptions of  more  conscious  morality  are  provided  by  the 
earlier  stages,  and  taken  from  other  spheres  of  life, 
we  find  that  these  conceptions  naturally  undergo  a  deep- 
ening of  meaning  when  they  are  used  to  express  the  more 
intimate  and  personal  attitude.  Take,  for  example,  the 
conceptions  borrowed  from  the  jural  sphere.  It  is  in 
the  school  of  government  and  courts  that  man  has  learned 
to  talk  and  think  of  right  and  law,  of  responsibility  and 
justice.  To  make  these  moral  instead  of  jural  terms, 
the  first  thing  that  is  needed  is  that  we  make  the  whole 
process  an  inward  one.  The  person  must  himself  set 
up  a  standard,  recognize  it  as  "law,"  judge  his  conduct 
by  it,  hold  himself  responsible  to  himself,  and  seek  to  do 
justice.  It  takes  several  persons  to  carry  on  these  proc- 
esses in  the  realm  of  government.  Legislators,  judges, 
jury,  executive  officers,  all  represent  the  State,  organized 
society.  That  a  single  person  can  be  himself  lawgiver, 
judge,  and  jury,  as  well  as  claimant  or  defendant,  shows 
that  he  is  himself  a  complex  being.  He  is  a  being 
of  passions,  appetites,  and  individual  interests,  but  he 
is  also  a  being  who  has  a  rational  and  social  nature. 
As  a  member  of  society  he  not  only  feels  his  individual 


ELEMENTS  OF  CONTRAST  183 

interest  but  recognizes  social  interests.  As  a  rational 
being  he  not  only  feels  the  thrill  of  passion  but  responds 
to  the  authority  of  a  law  and  obeys  the  voice  of  duty. 
Like  a  member  of  a  democratic  State  he  finds  himself  in 
the  sphere  of  conduct,  not  only  a  subject  but  a  sovereign, 
and  feels  the  dignity  of  a  person.  A  conscientious  per- 
son is  in  so  far  one  who  has  made  the  law  of  God  or  man 
an  inward  law  of  life — a  "moral  law."  But  the  act  of 
making  the  process  inward  makes  possible  a  deepening 
of  meaning.  Governments  and  courts  are  necessarily 
limited  in  purview  and  fallible  in  decisions.  They  are  some- 
times too  lenient,  sometimes  too  severe.  Conscience  implies 
a  knowledge  of  the  whole  act — purpose,  motive,  and  deed. 
Its  authority  makes  claim  for  absolute  obedience.  The 
laws  of  the  State  are  felt  to  be  binding  just  because  they 
are  believed  to  be,  on  the  whole,  right  and  just  as  measured 
by  this  moral  court  of  appeal.  When  they  conflict,  the 
power  may  be  with  the  political  sovereign,  but  the  man 
whose  conscience  is  clear  believes  that  he  follows  a  "higher 
law."  Much  of  the  great  literature  of  the  world  draws 
its  interest  from  its  portrayal  of  this  fundamental  fact 
of  human  experience.  "Two  things  fill  the  mind  with 
ever  new  and  increasing  admiration  and  awe,  the  oftener 
and  the  more  steadily  we  reflect  on  them:  the  starry 
heavens  above  and  the  moral  law  within." 

The  conceptions  taken  from  the  economic  sphere  show 
similar  deepening.  In  the  economic  world  things  are 
good  or  have  value  if  people  want  them.  It  is  in  the 
experience  of  satisfying  wants  that  man  has  learned  the 
language  of  "good  and  evil,"  and  to  compare  one  good 
with  another;  it  is  doubtless  by  the  progress  of  science 
and  the  arts  that  objective  standards  of  more  permanent, 
rational,  and  social  "goods"  are  provided.  When  this 
term  is  taken  up  to  a  higher  level  and  given  moral  mean- 
ing, two  new  factors  appear.  First  the  individual  begins 
to  consider  his  various  goods  and  values  in  relation  to 


184  CUSTOMARY  AND  REFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

each  other  and  to  his  life  as  a  whole.  In  the  second 
place,  in  thus  comparing  the  various  goods  and  the  de- 
sires they  satisfy,  he  begins  to  realize  that  in  some  way 
he  is  himself  more  than  the  mere  sum  of  his  natural 
instincts  and  appetites.  He  finds  that  he  can  take  an 
interest  in  certain  things,  and  is  not  merely  passive.  He 
gives  value  as  well  as  measures  it.  He  feels  that  as  such 
an  active  and  organizing  judge  and  creator  of  value,  he 
himself  has  a  higher  worth  than  any  of  the  particular 
things  that  gratify  particular  desires.  "A  man's  life 
consisteth  not  in  the  abundance  of  the  things  that  he  pos- 
sesseth."  "The  life  is  more  than  meat."  Or,  to  use  the 
phrase  which  will  be  explained  later,  moral  good  implies 
purpose,  character,  "good  will."  In  common  language,  it 
implies  being,  and  not  merely  having. 

The  term  good  where  used  in  our  judgments  upon  others 
(as  in  a  "good"  man),  may  have  a  different  history. 
As  has  been  noted,  it  may  come  from  class  feeling,  or 
from  the  praise  we  give  to  acts  as  they  immediately  please. 
It  may  be  akin  to  noble  or  fine  or  admirable.  All  such 
conceptions  undergo  a  similar  transformation  as  they 
pass  from  the  sphere  of  class  or  public  opinion  to  become 
moral  terms.  As  moral  they  imply  in  the  first  place  that 
we  consider  not  merely  outward  acts,  but  inward  purpose 
and  character.  They  imply  in  the  second  place  that  we 
who  judge  are  ourselves  acting  not  as  members  of  a 
class,  not  as  merely  emotional  beings,  but  as  social  and 
rational.  Our  moral  judgments  in  this  sense  are  from 
a  general,  a  universal  standard;  those  of  a  class  are 
partial. 

§  3.    OPPOSITION     BETWEEN     INDlVIDUAIi     AND     SOCIAL     AIMS 
AND    STANDARDS 

Withdrawal  from  the  Social  Order The  develop- 
ment of  reflection  tends   to  set  up  a  moral  opposition 


INDIVIDUAL  VERSUS  SOCIAL  AIMS       185 

between  the  individual  and  society.  Sometimes  "con- 
science" goes  beyond  the  need  of  criticizing,  of  discrim- 
inating, of  interpreting  social  customs,  of  following  their 
spirit  rather  than  their  letter;  it  takes  the  form  of  an 
assertion  of  a  purely  inner,  personal  morality,  so  distinct 
from  the  conditions  of  social  life  that  the  latter  are 
conceived  to  be  totally  lacking  in  positive  moral  signifi- 
cance. The  prescriptions  of  morality  are  thought  to  be 
revealed  in  conscience,  as  a  faculty  of  pure  intuition  or 
revelation,  receiving  neither  material  nor  warrant  from 
social  conditions.  The  distinction  already  spoken  of  be- 
tween the  moral  and  the  economic,  legal,  or  conventional, 
is  conceived  as  a  complete  separation;  customs  and 
institutions  are  external,  indifferent,  irrelevant,  or  even 
hostile  to  the  ideal  and  personally  perceived  demands  of 
morality.  Such  a  conception  of  morality  is  especially 
likely  to  arise  in  a  period  when  through  the  clash  of  ways 
and  standards  of  living,  all  customs,  except  those  main- 
tained by  force  and  authority,  are  disintegrating  or 
relaxing.  Such  a  state  existed  in  the  early  years  of  the 
Roman  empire  when,  for  the  first  time  in  history,  local 
boundaries  were  systematically  overstepped;  when  the 
empire  was  a  seething  mixture  of  alien  and  unlike  gods, 
beliefs,  ideals,  standards,  practices.  In  the  almost  uni- 
versal flux  and  confusion,  external  order  was  maintained 
by  the  crystallized  legislation  and  administration  of  Rome ; 
but  personal  aims  and  modes  of  behavior  had  to  be  ascer- 
tained by  the  individual  thrown  back  upon  himself. 
Christian,  Stoic,  Epicurean,  alike  found  the  political  order 
wholly  external  to  the  moral,  or  in  chronic  opposition  to 
it.  There  was  a  withdrawal  into  the  region  of  personal 
consciousness.  In  some  cases  the  withdrawal  was  pushed 
to  the  point  where  men  felt  that  they  could  be  truly 
righteous  only  by  going  by  themselves  into  the  desert,  to 
live  as  hermits ;  or  by  forming  separate  communities  of 
those  who   agreed   in   their   conceptions   of   life;  mental 


186  CUSTOMARY  AND  REFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

and  moral  aloofness  from  prevailing  social  standards  and 
habitudes  was  preached  by  all. 

Individual  Emancipation. — In  other  cases,  what  takes 
place  is  a  consciousness  of  liberation;  of  assertion  of 
personal  rights  and  privileges,  claims  for  new  modes  of 
activity  and  new  kinds  of  enjoyment.  The  individual 
feels  that  he  is  his  own  end;  that  the  impulses  and  capaci- 
ties which  he  finds  in  himself  are  sacred,  and  afford  the 
only  genuine  law  for  his  behavior;  that  whatever  restricts 
the  full  exercise  of  these  personal  powers  and  hampers  the 
satisfaction  of  personal  desires  is  coercive  and  morally  ab- 
normal. Existing  social  institutions  may  be  practically 
necessary,  but  they  are  morally  undesirable;  they  are  to 
be  used,  or  got  around  in  the  interests  of  personal  gratifi- 
cations. As  some  feel  that  social  conditions  are  hostile 
to  the  realization  of  the  highest  moral  obligations,  so 
others  feel  that  they  are  hostile  to  the  full  possession  of 
their  rights,  of  that  to  which  they  are  properly  entitled. 

Eventual  Transformation  of  Social  Values  and  Aims. 
— In  extreme  cases,  the  individual  may  come  to  believe 
that,  either  on  the  basis  of  his  true  obligations  or  his 
true  rights,  the  very  principle  of  society  is  morally  indif- 
ferent or  even  unworthy;  that  the  moral  life  is  eventually 
or  intrinsically  an  individual  matter,  although  it  happens 
to  be  outwardly  led  under  social  conditions.  But  in  the 
main  the  opposition  is  not  to  the  social  relations  as  such, 
but  to  existing  institutions  and  customs  as  inadequate. 
Then  the  reaction  of  the  individual  against  the  existing 
social  scheme,  whether  on  the  ground  of  ideals  too  high 
to  be  supported  by  it  or  on  the  ground  of  personal  claims 
to  which  it  does  not  afford  free  play,  becomes  a  means 
to  the  reconstruction  and  transformation  of  social  habits. 
In  this  way,  reflective  morality  is  a  mark  of  a  progressive 
society,  just  as  customary  morality  is  of  a  stationary 
society.  Reflection  on  vs^lues  is  the  method  of  their 
modification. 


EFFECTS  UPON  INDIVIDUAL  CHARACTER    187 

The  monastic  Christian  in  his  outward  withdrawal 
from  social  life,  still  maintained  the  conception  of  a  per- 
fected society,  of  a  kingdom  of  God  or  Heaven  to  be 
established.  This  ideal  became  to  some  extent  the  work- 
ing method  for  changing  the  existing  order.  The  Stoics, 
who  held  in  Hght  esteem  existing  community  ties,  had  the 
conception  of  a  universal  community,  a  cosmopolis,  ruled 
by  universal  law,  of  which  every  rational  being  was  a 
member  and  subject.  This  notion  became  operative  to 
some  extent  in  the  development  of  judicial  and  adminis- 
trative systems  much  more  generalized  and  equitable  than 
the  purely  local  customs,  laws,  and  standards  which  it 
swept  away.  The  Epicurean  had  the  ideal  of  friendship 
on  the  basis  of  which  were  formed  groups  of  congenial 
associates  held  together  neither  by  legal  ties,  nor  by  uni- 
versal laws  of  reason,  nor  by  unity  of  religious  aspiration 
and  belief,  but  by  friendship  and  companionable  inter- 
course. Thus  were  afforded  other  centers  of  social 
reconstruction. 


§  4.    EFFECTS  UPON  THE  INDIVIDUAL  CHARACTER 

General  Effects. — The  characteristic  differences  which 
have  been  pointed  out  in  the  preceding  section,  when  taken 
together  with  the  specific  conditions  of  change — liberty 
of  action  and  thought,  incentives  to  private  acquisition, 
facilities  for  power  and  pleasure — enable  us  to  under- 
stand the  contrasts  referred  to  at  the  opening  of  the 
chapter.  We  have,  on  the  one  hand,  the  inbred  craving 
for  power,  for  acquisition,  for  excitement,  for  gratification 
of  sense  and  agDetite,  enhanced  by  what  it  feeds  on.  We 
have,  on  the  ^^^  hand,  the  progressive  differentiation 
of  the  moral,  WPmg  the  individual  loose  from  the  bonds 
of  the  external  moral  order  and  forcing  him  to  stand 
on  his  own^fc|[t — oi*  fall.     Note  how  each  of  the  points 


brought  out  m  the  preceding  section  operates. 


188  CUSTOMARY  AND  REFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

(1)  To  separate  out  the  moral  as  a  distinct  element 
from  certain  spheres  of  life,  allows  the  less  seriously 
minded  and  the  less  sympathetic  individuals  to  live  com- 
placently a  trivial  or  unscrupulous  life.  Fashion,  "social 
duties,"  amusements,  "culture"  emptied  of  all  earnest 
meaning,  "business"  and  "politics"  divorced  from  any 
humane  or  public  considerations,  may  be  regarded  as  justi- 
fiable vocations.  A  "gentleman"  who  no  longer  has  the 
occupation  of  his  fighting  predecessors  as  an  excuse  for 
a  distinct  type  of  life,  may  find  the  support  of  a  large 
leisure  class  in  declining  any  useful  service  to  the  com- 
munity and  devoting  himself  to  "sport" ;  a  "lady"  may 
be  so  engaged  by  the  multifarious  demands  of  "society" 
as  never  to  notice  what  an  utterly  worthless  round  she 
follows. 

(2)  The  fact  that  the  morality  of  conscience  requires 
reflection,  progress,  and  a  deeper  meaning  for  its  con- 
ception, makes  it  obvious  why  many  fail  to  grasp  any 
moral  meaning  at  all.  They  fail  to  put  forth  the  effort, 
or  to  break  with  habit.  Under  customary  morahty 
it  was  enough  to  "observe"  and  to  continue  in  the  mores. 
It  requires  a  higher  degree  of  insight  and  a  greater 
initiative  to  get  any  moral  attitude  at  all  when  the  forms 
have  become  mere  forms  and  the  habits  mere  habits. 
Hence  when  a  change  in  personal  environment  or  in 
general  social  and  economic  conditions  comes,  many  fail 
to  see  the  principles  involved.  They  remain  completely 
satisfied  with  the  "old-fashioned  virtues"  or  intrench 
themselves  in  the  "righteousness"  and  "honesty"  of  a 
past  generation.  This  habitual  and  "painless"  morality 
will  often  mean  a  "virtue"  or  "righteousness"  which  in- 
volves no  conflict  with  present  condi^jBBfc  A  man  who 
feels  honest  because  he  does  not  brea^^^tracts  or  de- 
fraud in  old-fashioned  ways,  may  be  quite  at  ease  about 
watering  stock  or  adulterating  goocis.  i^^fcciety  which 
abhors  murder  with  iron  and  explosives  iiKhe  form  of 


EFFECTS  UPON  INDIVIDUAL  CHARACTER    189 

daggers  and  bombs,  may  feel  quite  unconcerned  about  the 
preventable  homicides  by  iron  machinery,  or  by  explosives 
used  in  coal  mines. 

(3)  The  conflict  with  society  which  reflective  morality 
requires,  works  to  thrust  some  below  the  general  level, 
while  it  raises  others  above  it.  To  criticize  the  general 
moral  order  may  make  a  man  a  prophet,  but  it  may  also 
make  him  a  Pharisee.  Practical  reaction  may  make 
reformers,  but  it  is  likely  to  make  another  set  of 
men  dissolute;  to  make  them  feel  superior  to  the  moral- 
ity of  "PhiHstines"  and  therefore  exempt  from  social 
restraints. 

Vices  Incident  to  Reflective  Stage. — The  vices  increase 
with  civilization,  partly  because  of  increased  opportunity, 
partly  because  of  increased  looseness  in  social  restraint. 
There  is  a  further  element.  When  any  activity  of  man 
is  cut  off  from  its  original  and  natural  relations  and 
made  the  object  of  special  attention  and  pursuit,  the 
whole  adjustment  is  thrown  out  of  balance.  What  was 
before  a  useful  function  becomes  pathological.  The 
craving  for  excitement  or  stimulation  is  normal  within 
certain  limits.  In  the  chase  or  the  battle,  in  the  venture 
of  the  explorer  or  the  merchant,  it  functions  as  a  healthy 
incentive.  When  isolated  as  an  end  in  itself,  taken  out 
of  the  objective  social  situation,  it  becomes  the  spring 
of  gambling  or  drunkenness.  The  instincts  and  emotions 
of  sex,  possessing  power  and  interest  necessitated  by  their 
place  in  the  continuance  of  the  race,  become  when  isolated 
the  spring  of  passion  or  of  obscenity  or  lubricity.  Avarice 
and  gluttony  illustrate  the  same  law.  The  gladiatorial 
shows  at  Rome  became  base  and  cowardly  when  the 
Romans  were  themselves  no  longer  fighters.^  Even  the 
aspiration  for  what  is  higher  and  better  may  become  an 
"otherworldliness"  which  leaves  this  world  to  its  misery 
and  evil.  Such  a  series  of  pictures  as  Balzac  has  given  in 
^  Sumner,  Folkways,  p.  570. 


190  CUSTOMARY  AND  REFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

his  Comedie  Humaine^  shows  better  than  any  labored 
description  the  possibiHties  of  modern  civiHzation. 

There  is,  moreover,  in  civiKzed  society  a  further  most 
demorahzing  agency  unknown  to  earher  hfe.  As  the  vices 
are  speciaKzed  and  pursued  they  become  economic  and 
poHtical  interests.  Vast  capital  is  invested  in  the  busi- 
ness of  ministering  to  the  vicious  appetites.  It  is  pecu- 
niarily desirable  that  these  appetites  should  be  stimulated 
as  greatly  as  possible.  It  makes  "business."  The  tribute 
levied  by  public  officials  upon  the  illegal  pursuits  forms 
a  vast  fund  for  carrying  elections.  The  multitude  en- 
gaged in  the  traffic  or  dependent  upon  it  for  favors,  can 
be  relied  upon  to  cast  their  votes  as  a  unit  for  men  who 
will  guarantee  protection. 

Relations  to  Fellow  Men. — The  motives  and  occasions 
for  selfishness  and  injustice  have  been  indicated  suffi- 
ciently perhaps  in  preceding  chapters.  As  the  general 
process  of  increasing  individuality  and  reflection  goes  on, 
it  is  an  increasingly  easy  matter  to  be  indifferent  or 
even  unjust.  When  all  lead  a  common  life  it  is  easy  to 
enter  into  the  situation  of  another,  to  appreciate  his 
motives,  his  needs,  and  in  general  to  "put  yourself  in  his 
place."  The  external  nature  of  the  conduct  makes  it 
easy  to  hold  all  to  a  common  standard.  The  game  must 
be  shared;  the  property — so  far  as  there  is  property — 
respected;  the  religious  rites  observed.  But  when  stand- 
ards becomes  more  inward  the  more  intelligent  or  rigorous 
may  find  sympathy  less  easy.  When  they  attempt  to  be 
"charitable"  they  may  easily  become  condescending.  The 
pure  will  not  soil  their  skirts  by  contact  with  the  fallen. 
The  "high-minded  citizen"  refuses  to  mix  in  politics.  The 
scholar  thinks  the  business  man  materialistic.  The  man 
of  breeding,  wealth,  and  education  finds  the  uneducated 
laborer  lacking  in  courtesy  and  refinement  and  argues 
that  it  is  useless  to  waste  sympathy  upon  the  "masses." 
The  class  terms  which  have  become  moral  terms  are  illus- 


EFFECTS  UPON  INDIVIDUAL  CHARACTER    191 

trations  of  this  attitude.  Finally,  the  moral  process 
of  building  up  freedom  and  right  easily  leads  to  a  dis- 
position to  stand  on  rights  and  let  other  persons  look 
out  for  themselves.  Kant's  doctrine,  that  since  all  mo- 
rality is  personal  I  can  do  nothing  to  promote  my  neigh- 
bor's perfection,  is  a  laissez  faire  in  ethics  which  he  did  not 
carry  out,  but  it  is  a  not  unnatural  corollary  of  reflective 
morality.  "Am  I  my  brother's  keeper  .f^"  is  much  more 
likely  to  be  the  language  of  reflective,  than  of  customary 
and  group  life. 

Reconstructive  Forces. — We  have  dwelt  at  length  upon 
the  disintegrating  forces,  not  because  civilization  neces- 
sarily grows  worse,  but  because,  having  pointed  out  in 
earlier  chapters  the  positive  advances,  it  becomes  necessary 
to  allude  also  to  the  other  aspect  of  the  process.  Other- 
wise it  might  appear  that  there  is  no  problem.  If  the 
evolution  were  supposed  to  be  all  in  one  direction  there 
would  be  no  seriousness  in  life.  It  is  only  in  the  pressure 
of  constantly  new  difficulties  and  evils  that  moral  char- 
acter adds  new  fiber,  and  moral  progress  emerges.  In- 
dividualism, self-seeking,  and  desire  for  property  force 
the  establishment  of  governments  and  courts  which  pro- 
tect poor  as  well  as  rich.  Luxury  and  ostentation  have 
not  only  called  out  the  asceticism  which  renounces  the 
world  and  sees  in  all  gratification  of  appetite  an  evil; 
they  have  brought  into  the  fore  the  serious  meaning  of 
life;  they  have  served  to  emphasize  the  demand  for  social 
justice.  The  countless  voluntary  associations  for  the 
relief  of  sickness,  misfortune,  and  poverty;  for  aiding 
the  defective,  dependent,  and  criminal ;  for  promoting  num- 
berless good  causes — enlist  a  multitude  in  friendly  co- 
operation. The  rising  demand  for  legislation  to  embody 
the  new  sentiments  of  justice  is  part  of  the  process  of 
reconstruction.  And  now  when  all  the  arts  and  goods  of 
civilization  are  becoming  more  and  more  fully  the  work,  not 
of  any  individual's  labor  or  skill,  but  rather  of  the  com- 


192  CUSTOMARY  AND  REFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

bined  labor  and  intelligence  of  many,  when  life  in  cities  is 
necessitating  greater  interdependence,  finally  when  con- 
trasts in  conditions  are  brought  more  forcibly  to  notice  by 
the  very  progress  of  knowledge  and  the  means  of  knowl- 
edge,— the  more  thoroughly  social  use  of  all  that  civiliza- 
tion produces  becomes  more  insistent  and  compelling.  It 
is  not  a  matter  of  sentiment  but  of  necessity.  If  any  one 
is  disposed  to  deny  the  claim,  it  becomes  increasingly  cer- 
tain that  Carlyle's  Irish  widow  will  prove  her  sisterhood  by 
infecting  the  denier  with  fever  ;^  that  the  ignorant,  or 
criminal,  or  miserable  will  jeopardize  his  happiness, 

§  5.    MORAL  DIFFERENTIATION  AND  THE  SOCIAl.   ORDER 

Two  processes  went  on  side  by  side  in  the  movement  we 
have  traced.  ( 1 )  The  primitive  group,  which  was  at  once 
a  kinship  or  family,  an  economic,  a  political,  a  religious, 
an  educational,  and  a  moral  unit,  was  broken  down  and 
replaced  by  several  distinct  institutions,  each  with  its 
own  special  character.  (2)  The  moral,  which  was  so 
largely  unreflective  that  it  could  be  embodied  in  every 
custom  and  observance,  became  more  personal  and  sub- 
jective. The  result  of  this  was  either  that  the  moral 
was  now  more  consciously  and  voluntarily  put  into  the 
social  relations,  thereby  raising  them  all  to  a  higher  moral 
level,  or  that,  failing  such  a  leavening  of  the  distinct 

*  "  One  of  Dr.  Alison's  Scotch  facts  struck  us  much.  A  poor  Irish 
Widow,  her  husband  having  died  in  one  of  the  Lanes  of  Edinburgh, 
went  forth  with  her  three  children,  bare  of  all  resources,  to  solicit  help 
from  the  Charitable  Establishments  of  that  City.  At  this  Charitable 
Establishment  and  then  at  that  she  was  refused;  referred  from  one 
to  the  other,  helped  by  none;  till  she  had  exhausted  them  all;  till  her 
strength  and  heart  failed  her;  she  sank  down  in  typhus-fever;  died, 
and  infected  her  Lane  with  fever,  so  that  *  seventeen  other  persons ' 
died  of  fever  there  in  consequence.  .  .  .  The  forlorn  Irish  Widow 
applies  to  her  fellow  creatures,  as  if  saying,  '  Behold  I  am  sinking, 
bare  of  help;  ye  must  help  me!  I  am  your  sister,  bone  of  your  bone; 
one  God  made  us;  ye  must  help  me.'  They  answer,  'No,  impossible; 
thou  art  no  sister  of  ours.'  But  she  proves  her  sisterhood ;  her  typhus 
fever  kills  them:"     (Past  and  Present ,  Book  III.,  ch.  ii.) 


MORAL  DIFFERENTIATION  193 

spheres  of  the  social  order,  the  latter  were  emptied  of  moral 
value  and  lost  moral  restraints.  We  notice  very  briefly 
certain  illustrations  of  this,  leaving  a  fuller  treatment 
for  Part  III. 

The  Family. — ^When  the  family  was  largely  deter- 
mined by  status,  when  it  was  an  economic,  a  political,  and 
a  religious  unit,  it  had  a  strong  support.  But  the  sup- 
port was  largely  external  to  the  true  purpose  and  mean- 
ing of  the  family.  Only  as  these  other  elements  were 
separated,  and  the  family  placed  on  a  voluntary  basis, 
could  its  true  significance  emerge.  Aff*ection  and  mutual 
supplementation  of  husband  and  wife,  love  and  devotion 
to  off*spring,  must  stand  the  strains  formerly  distributed 
over  several  ties.  The  best  types  of  family  life  which 
have  resulted  from  this  more  moral  basis  are  unquestion- 
ably far  superior  to  the  older  form.  At  the  same  time 
the  difficulties  and  perversion  or  subversion  of  the  more 
voluntary  type  are  manifest.  When  no  personal  attach- 
ment was  sought  or  professed,  or  when  marriage  by 
purchase  was  the  approved  custom,  the  marriage  con- 
tracted under  these  conditions  might  have  all  the  value 
which  the  general  state  of  intelligence  and  civilization  al- 
lowed. When  the  essential  feature  which  hallows  the 
union  has  come  to  be  recognized  as  a  union  of  will  and 
affection,  then  marriage  without  these,  however  "solem- 
nized," almost  inevitably  means  moral  degradation.  And 
if  the  consent  of  the  parties  is  regarded  as  the  basis 
of  the  tie,  then  it  is  difficult  to  make  sure  that  this 
"consent"  has  within  it  enough  of  steadfast,  well-consid- 
ered purpose  and  of  emotional  depth  to  take  the  place 
of  all  the  older  sanctions  and  to  secure  permanent  unions. 
The  more  complete  responsibility  for  the  children  which 
has  been  gained  by  the  separation  of  the  family,  has  also 
proved  susceptible  of  abuse  as  well  as  of  service.  For 
while  savages  have  often  practiced  infanticide  for  eco- 
nomic reasons,  it  is  doubtful  if  any  savage  family  ever 


194  CUSTOMARY  AND  REFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

equaled  the  more  refined  selfishness  and  cruelty  of  the 
child  labor  which  modern  families  have  furnished  and 
modern  society  has  permitted. 

The  Economic  and  Industrial. — The  economic  lost  pow- 
erful restraints  when  it  became  a  separate  activity 
divorced  from  family,  religious,  and,  in  the  view  of  some, 
from  moral  considerations.  It  has  worked  out  certain  im- 
portant moral  necessities  of  its  own.  Honesty,  the  keep^ 
ing  of  contracts,  the  steadiness  and  continuity  of  char- 
acter fostered  by  economic  relations,  are  important 
contributions.  Modern  business,  for  example,  is  the  most 
effective  agency  in  securing  sobriety.  It  is  far  more 
efficient  than  "temperance  societies."  Other  values  of  the 
economic  and  industrial  process — the  increase  of  produc- 
tion, the  interchange  of  services  and  goods,  the  new  means 
of  happiness  afforded  by  the  increase  of  wealth — are 
obvious.  On  the  other  hand,  the  honesty  required  by 
business  is  a  most  technical  and  peculiarly  limited  sort. 
It  does  not  interfere  with  adulteration  of  goods  under 
certain  conditions,  nor  with  corrupt  bargains  with  public 
officials.  The  measurement  of  values  on  a  purely  pecuniary 
basis  tends  to  release  a  large  sphere  of  activity  from  any 
moral  restraints.  The  maxim  "Business  is  business"  may 
be  made  the  sanction  for  any  kind  of  conduct  not  excluded 
by  commercial  standards.  Unless  there  is  a  constant  in- 
jection of  moral  valuation  and  control,  there  is  a  tendency 
to  subvert  all  other  ends  and  standards  to  the  purely 
economic. 

Law  and  Government. — To  remove  these  functions 
from  the  kinship  group  as  such,  is  at  once  to  bring  the 
important  principles  of  authority  and  duty,  and  gradu- 
ally of  rights  and  freedom,  to  consciousness.  Only  by 
such  separation  could  the  universality  and  impartiality 
of  law  be  established.  And  only  by  universality  can  the 
judgment  of  the  society  as  a  whole  be  guaranteed  its 
execution  as   over  against  the  variations   in  intelligence 


MORAL  DIFFERENTIATION  195 

and  right  purpose  of  individual  rulers  and  judges.  More- 
over, the  separation  of  law  from  morality  has  likewise 
its  gain  or  loss.  On  the  one  hand,  to  separate  off  a  defi- 
nite sphere  of  external  acts  to  which  alone  physical  con- 
straints or  penalties  may  attach,  is  at  once  to  free  a 
great  sphere  of  inner  thought  and  purpose  and  to  en- 
able purely  psychical  values  and  restraints  to  attain  far 
greater  power  in  conduct.  Liberty  of  thought  and  reli- 
gious belief,  sincerity  and  thorough  responsibility,  re- 
quire such  a  separation.  It  is  also  to  make  possible  a 
general  law  which  rises  above  the  conscience  of  the  lower 
even  if  it  does  not  always  reach  the  level  of  the  most 
enlightened  and  just.  To  make  a  command  a  "universal 
law"  is  itself  a  steadying  and  elevating  influence,  and 
it  is  only  by  a  measure  of  abstraction  from  the  individ- 
ual, inner  aspect  of  conduct  that  this  can  be  achieved. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  not  infrequent  contrast  between 
law  and  justice,  the  substitution  of  technicality  for  sub- 
stantials,  the  conservatism  which  made  Voltaire  charac- 
terize lawyers  as  the  "conservators  of  ancient  barbarous 
usages,"  above  all  the  success  with  which  law  has  been 
used  to  sanction  or  even  facilitate  nearly  every  form  of 
oppression,  extortion,  class  advantage,  or  even  judicial 
murder,  is  a  constant  attestation  of  the  twofold  possi- 
bilities inherent  in  all  institutions.  Government  in  other 
functions  exhibits  similar  possibilities.  At  first  it  was 
tyranny  against  which  the  subject  had  to  defend  himself. 
Now  it  is  rather  the  use  of  political  machinery  for  private 
gain.  "Eternal  vigilance"  is  the  price  not  only  of  freedom, 
but  of  every  moral  value. 

The  Religious  Life. — ^When  freed  from  interdepend- 
ence with  kinship,  economic,  and  political  association, 
religion  has  an  opportunity  to  become  more  personal  and 
more  universal.  When  a  man's  religious  attitude  is  not 
fixed  by  birth,  when  worship  is  not  so  closely  bound  up 
with  economic  interests,  when  there  is  not  only  religious 


196  CUSTOMARY  AND  REFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

"toleration,"  but  religious  liberty,  the  significance  of  reli- 
gion as  a  personal,  spiritual  relation  comes  to  view.  The 
kinship  tie  is  sublimated  into  a  conception  of  divine  father- 
hood. It  becomes  credible  that  Job  does  serve  God  "for 
naught."  Faith  and  purity  of  heart  are  not  secured  by 
magistrates  or  laws. 

And  the  universality  of  rehgion  is  no  less  a  gain.  So 
far  as  religion  was  of  the  group  it  tended  to  emphasize 
the  boundary  between  Jew  and  Gentile,  Greek  and  Bar- 
barian, between  the  "we-group"  and  the  "others-group." 
But  when  this  group  religion  gave  place  to  a  more  uni- 
versal religion,  the  kingdom  of  Israel  could  give  place 
to  the  kingdom  of  God;  brotherhood  could  transcend 
family  or  national  lines.  In  the  fierce  struggles  of  the 
Middle  Ages  the  church  was  a  powerful  agency  for  re- 
straining the  powerful  and  softening  the  feuds  of  hostile 
clans  and  peoples.  The  "peace  of  God"  was  not  only 
a  symbol  of  a  far-off^  ideal,  but  an  actual  relief.  The 
universality  might  indeed  be  sought  by  force  in  a  crusade 
of  Christian  against  Moslem,  or  in  the  horror  of  a  thirty 
years'  war  between  Catholic  and  Protestant.  But  as  the 
conception  of  religion  as  a  spiritual  relation  becomes 
clearer,  the  tendency  must  inevitably  be  to  disclose  religion 
an  essentially  a  unifying  rather  than  a  divisive  and  dis- 
cordant force.  If  any  religion  becomes  universal  it  will 
be  because  of  its  universal  appeal.  And  so  far  as  it  does 
make  universal  appeal,  like  science,  like  art,  it  invites 
its   followers. 

The  differentiation  of  the  moral  from  the  religious 
is  often  difficult  to  trace.  For  the  religious  has  often  been 
the  agency  through  which  certain  of  the  characteristics 
of  the  moral  have  been  brought  about.  The  inward  and 
voluntary  aspect  of  the  moral,  as  compared  with  the  ver- 
dicts of  law  or  public  opinion,  has  been  emphasized.  But  this 
is  often  developed  by  the  religious  conceptions  of  an  all- 
seeing  God,  an  all-wise  judge.    "Man  looketh  on  the  outer 


MORAL  DIFFERENTIATION  197 

appearance,  but  the  Lord  looketh  upon  the  heart"  has  its 
literary  parallels  in  Xenophon  and  Plato  and  Shakspere. 
The  distinction  between  higher  and  lower  values  has 
received  its  most  impressive  symbol  in  the  conception  of 
"another  world,"  in  which  there  is  neither  pain  nor  sin, 
but  eternal  blessedness  and  eternal  life.  Ideals  of  char- 
acter, when  embodied  in  divine  persons,  command  love, 
reverence,  and  devotion  in  supreme  degree.  A  society 
in  which  love  and  justice  are  the  law  of  life  has  seemed 
more  possible,  more  potent  to  inspire  sacrifice  and  en- 
thusiasm, when  envisaged  as  the  Kingdom  of  God.  But 
in  all  these  illustrations  we  have,  not  the  religious  as 
distinct  from  the  moral,  but  the  religious  as  modified 
by  the  moral  and  embodying  the  moral  in  concrete  ex- 
amples and  imagery.  We  can  see  the  two  possible  types 
of  development,  however,  in  the  concrete  instances  of  the 
Hebrews  and  the  Greeks.  In  Israel  religion  was  able  to 
take  up  the  moral  ideals  and  become  itself  more  com- 
pletely ethical.  The  prophets  of  religion  were  at  the  same 
time  the  moral  reformers.  But  in  Greece,  in  spite  of  the 
efforts  of  some  of  the  great  poets,  the  religious  concep- 
tions for  the  most  part  remained  set  and  hence  became 
superstition,  or  emotional  orgy,  or  ecstasy,  while  the  moral 
found  a  distinct  path  of  its  own.  Religion  at  present 
is  confronting  the  problem  of  whether  it  will  be  able  to 
take  up  into  itself  the  newer  ethical  values — the  scientific 
spirit  which  seeks  truth,  the  enhanced  value  of  human 
worth  which  demands  higher  types  of  social  justice. 

A  brief  characterization  of  the  respective  standpoints 
of  religion  and  morality  may  be  added,  as  they  both  aim 
to  control  and  give  value  to  human  conduct.  The  reli- 
gious has  always  implied  some  relation  of  man's  life 
to  unseen  powers  or  to  the  cosmos.  The  relation  may  be 
the  social  relation  of  kin  or  friend  or  companion,  the 
political  of  subject  to  a  sovereign,  the  cosmic  relation  of 


198  CUSTOMARY  AND  REFLECTIVE  MORALITY 

dependence,  or  that  of  seeking  in  the  divine  completer 
meaning  or  more  perfect  fulfillment  for  what  is  frag- 
mentary and  imperfect.  In  its  aspect  of  "faith"  it  holds 
all  these  ideals  of  power,  wisdom,  goodness,  justice,  to 
be  real  and  effective.  The  moral,  on  the  other  hand,  con- 
cerns itself,  not  with  unseen  beings  or  cosmic  reality,  but 
with  human  purposes  and  the  relations  of  a  man  to  his 
fellows.  For  religion,  conscience  may  be  the  "voice  of 
God" ;  for  morality,  it  must  be  stated  in  terms  of  thought 
and  feeling.  The  "moral  law"  must  be  viewed  as  a  law 
which  is  capable  of  being  approved,  at  least — and  this 
implies  that  it  may  also  be  criticized — ^by  the  mind.  The 
difference  which  religion  states  as  a  choice  between  "God 
and  mammon,"  between  heaven  and  earth,  morality  must 
state  in  terms  of  good  and  evil,  right  and  wrong,  ideal 
interests  and  natural  appetites.  Instead  of  regarding 
its  standards  as  laws  established  once  for  all  by  a  divine 
authority,  morality  seeks  to  reach  principles.  Instead 
of  embodying  its  ideals  in  persons,  the  moral  seeks  to 
reshape  them  continually.  It  is  for  religion  to  hold 
that  "God  reigns,"  and  therefore  "All's  right  with  the 
world."  The  moral  as  such  must  be  continually  over- 
coming evil,  continually  working  out  ideals  into  conduct, 
and  changing  the  natural  order  into  a  more  rational  and 
social  order. 


PART  II 
THEORY  OF  THE  MORAL  LIFE 


GENERAL  LITERATURE  FOR  PART  II 

Among  the  works  which  have  had  the  most  influence  upon  the 
development  of  the  theory  of  morals  are:  Plato,  dialogues  entitled 
Republic,  Laws,  Protagoras  and  Gorgias;  Aristotle,  Ethics;  Cicero, 
De  Finibus  and  De  Officiis;  Marcus  Aurelius,  Meditations ;  Epictetus, 
Conversations;  Lucretius,  De  Rerum  Natura;  St.  Thomas  Aquinas 
(selected  and  translated  by  Rickaby  under  title  of  Aquinas  Ethicus) ; 
Hobbes,  Leviathan;  Spinoza,  Ethics,  Shaftesbury,  Characteristics,  and 
Inquiry  concerning  Virtue;  Hutcheson,  System  of  Moral  Philosophy; 
Butler,  Sermons;  Hume,  Essays,  Principles  of  Morals;  Adam  Smith, 
Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments;  jBentham,  Principles  of  Morals  and 
Legislation;  Kant,  Critique  of  Practical  J^eason,  and  Foundations  of 
iKe'H^eiaphysics  of  Ethics;  Comte,  Social  Physics  (in  his  Course 
of  Positive  Philosophy) ;  Mill,  Utilitarianism;  Spencer,  Principles 
of  Ethicsj  Green,  Prolegomena  to  Ethics;  Sidgwick,  Methods  of 
Ethics;  Selby-Bigge,  British  Moralists,  2  vols,  (a  convenient  collec- 
tion of  selections).  For  contemporary  treatises,  and  liistories  con- 
sult the  literature  referred  to  in  ch.  i.  of  Part  I. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  MORAL  SITUATION 

Object  of  Part  Two  and  of  Present  Chapter — From 
the  history  of  morals,  we  turn  to  the  theoretical  analysis 
of  reflective  morality.  We  are  concerned  to  discover 
(1)  just  what  in  conduct  it  is  that  we  judge  good  and 
evil,  right  and  wrong  (conduct  being  a  compHcated 
thing);  (^)  what  we  mean  by  good  and  evil,  right  and 
wrong;  (3)  on  what  basis  we  apply  these  conceptions 
to  their  appropriate  objects  in  conduct.  But  before 
we  attempt  these  questions,  we  must  detect  and  identify 
the  moral  situation,  the  situation  in  which  considera- 
tions of  good  and  evil,  right  and  wrong,  present  them- 
selves and  are  employed.  For  some  situations  we  em- 
ploy the  ideas  of  true  and  false;  of  beautiful  and  ugly; 
of  skilful  and  awkward;  of  economical  and  wasteful, 
etc.  We  may  indeed  apply  the  terms  right  and  wrong 
to  these  same  situations ;  but  if  so,  it  is  to  them 
in  some  other  light.  What  then  are  the  differentiating 
traits,  the  special  earmarks,  presented  by  the  situation 
which  we  identify  as  distinctively  moral?  For  we  use 
the  term  moral  in  a  broad  sense  to  designate  that  which 
is  either  moral  or  immoral:  i.e.,  right  or  wrong  in  the 
narrower  sense.  It  is  the  moral  situation  in  the  broad 
sense  as  distinct  from  the  non-moral,  not  from  the  im- 
moral, that  we  are  now  concerned  with. 

The  Moral  Situation  Involves  Voluntary  Activity. — 
It  will  be  admitted  on  all  hands  that  the  moral  situa- 
tion is  one  which,  whatever  else  it  may  or  may  not  be, 

20X 


202  THE  MORAL  SITUATION 

involves  a  voluntary  factor.  Some  of  the  chief  traits  of 
voluntary  activity  we  have  already  become  acquainted 
with,  as  in  the  account  by  Aristotle,  already  noted  {ante, 
p.  12).  The  agent  must  know  what  he  is  about;  he 
must  have  some  idea  of  what  he  is  doing;  he  must  not 
be  a  somnambulist,  or  an  imbecile,  or  insane,  or  an  infant 
so  immature  as  to  have  no  idea  of  what  he  is  doing. 
He  must  also  have  some  wish,  some  desire,  some  preference 
in  the  matter.  A  man  overpowered  by  superior  force 
might  be  physically  compelled  by  some  ingenious  device 
to  shoot  a  gun  at  another,  knowing  what  he  was  doing, 
but  his  act  would  not  be  voluntary  because  he  had  no 
choice  in  the  matter,  or  rather  because  his  preference 
was  not  to  do  the  act  which  he  is  aware  he  is  doing.  But 
if  he  is  ordered  to  kill  another  and  told  if  he  does  not  he 
will  himself  be  killed,  he  has  some  will  in  the  matter.  He 
may  do  the  deed,  not  because  he  likes  it  or  wishes  it  in 
itself,  but  because  he  wishes  to  save  his  own  life.  The 
attendant  circumstances  may  affect  our  judgment  of  the 
kind  and  degree  of  morality  attaching  to  the  act ;  but  they 
do  not  take  it  entirely  out  of  the  moral  sphere.^  Aris- 
totle says  the  act  must  also  be  the  expression  of  a  disposi- 
tion (a  habit  or  e^i?),  a  more  or  less  settled  tendency 
on  the  part  of  the  person.  It  must  bear  some  relation  to 
his  character.  Character  is  not,  we  may  say,  a  third  factor. 
It  is  making  clear  what  is  implied  in  deliberation  and  wish. 
There  may  be  little  deliberation  in  a  child's  act  and  little 
in  an  adult's,  and  yet  we  may  regard  the  latter  as  much 
more  voluntary  than  the  child's.  With  the  child,  the 
thought  is  superficial  and  casual,  because  of  the  restricted 
stage  of  organization  or  growth  reached  (see  p.  10): 
his  act  flows  from  organic  instinct  or  from  accidental 
circumstances — whim,  caprice,  and  chance  suggestion,  or 

*  Aristotle  illustrates  by  a  man  whd  throws  his  goods  overboard  in 
a  storm  at  sea.  He  does  not  wish  absolutely  to  lose  his  goods,  but 
he  prefers  losing  them  to  losing  the  ship  or  his  own  life:  he  wishes 
it  under  the  circumstances  and  his  act  is  so  far  voluntary. 


THE  MORAL  SITUATION 

fancy.  The  adult's  act  may  flow  from  habitual  tendencies 
and  be  accompanied  by  an  equally  small  amount  of  con- 
scious reflection.  But  the  tendencies  themselves  are  the  out- 
come of  prior  deliberations  and  choices  which  have  finally 
got  funded  into  more  or  less  automatic  habits.  The  child's 
act  is  to  a  slight  extent  the  expression  of  character;  the 
adult's  to  a  large  extent.  In  short,  we  mean  by  character 
whatever  lies  behind  an  act  in  the  way  of  deliberation  and 
desire,  whether  these  processes  be  near-by  or  remote. 

Not   Everything   Voluntary   is    Morally   Judged ^A 

voluntary  act  may  then  be  defined  as  one  which  mani- 
fests character,  the  test  of  its  presence  being  the  presence 
of  desire  and  deliberation;  these  sometimes  being  present 
directly  and  immediately,  sometimes  indirectly  and  re- 
motely through  their  eff^ects  upon  the  agent's  standing 
habits.  But  we  do  not  judge  all  voluntary  activity  from 
the  moral  standpoint.  Some  acts  we  judge  from  the 
standpoint  of  skill  or  awkwardness;  others  as  amusing 
or  boring;  others  as  stupid  or  highly  intelligent,  and  so 
on.  We  do  not  bring  to  bear  the  conceptions  of  right 
and  wrong.  And  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  many 
things  called  good  and  bad  which  are  not  voluntary. 
Since  what  we  are  in  search  of  must  lie  somewhere  be- 
tween these  two  limits,  we  may  begin  with  cases  of  the 
latter  sort. 

(i)  Not  Everything  Judged  Good  or  Right  is  Moral. 
— ^We  speak,  for  example,  of  an  ill-wind;  of  a  good 
engine;  of  a  watch  being  wrong;  or  of  a  screw  being  set 
right.  We  speak  of  good  and  bad  bread,  money,  or 
soil.  That  is,  from  the  standpoint  of  value,  we  judge 
things  as  means  to  certain  results  in  themselves  desirable 
"or  undesirable.  A  "good"  machine  does  efficiently  the 
work  for  which  it  is  designed;  "bad"  money  does  not 
subserve  the  ends  which  money  is  meant  to  promote; 
the  watch  that  is  wrong  comes  short-  of  telling  us  time 
correctly.      We  have  to   use   the  notion  of  value   and 


204  THE  MORAL  SITUATION 

of  contribution  to  value;  that  is  a  positive  factor.  But 
thisVcontribution  to  valuable  result  is  not,  in  inanimate 
objects,  something  meant  or  intended  bj  the  things  them- 
selves^l  If  we  thought  the  ill-wind  had  an  idea  of  its 
own  destructive  effect  and  took  pleasure  in  that  idea,  we 
should  attribute  moral  quality  to  it — just  as  men  did  in 
early  times,  and  so  tried  to  influence  its  behavior  in  order 
to  make  it  "good."  Among  things  that  promote  favor- 
able or  unfavorable  results  a  line  is  drawn  between  those 
which  just  do  so  as  matter  of  fact,  and  those  in  which 
meaning  so  to  do,  or  intention,  plays  a  part. 

(2)  Good  in  Animal  Conduct. — Let  us  now  consider 
the  case  of  good  and  bad  animal  conduct.  We  speak  of  a 
good  watch- dog;  of  a  bad  saddle-horse,  and  the  like. 
Moreover,  we  train  the  dog  and  the  horse  to  the  right  or 
desired  kind  of  action.  We  make,  we  repair  the  watch; 
but  we  do  not  train  it.  Training  involves  a  new  factor: 
enlistment  of  the  animal's  tendencies ;  of  its  own  conscious 
attitudes  and  reactions.  We  pet,  we  reward  by  feeding,  we 
punish  and  threaten.  By  these  means  we  induce  animals  to 
exercise  in  ways  that  form  the  habits  we  want.  We  modify 
the  animal's  behavior  by  modifying  its  own  impulses.  But 
I  we  do  not  give  moral  significance  to  the  good  and  bad,  for 
we  are  still  thinking  of  means  to  ends.  ,  We  do  not  sup- 
pose that  we  have  succeeded  in  supplying  the  hunting 
dog,  for  example,  with  ideas  that  certain  results  are  more 
excellent  than  others,  so  that  henceforth  he  acts  on  the 
basis  of  his  own  discrimination  of  the  less  and  the  more 
valuable.  We  just  induce  certain  habits  by  managing 
to  make  certain  ways  of  acting  feel  more  agreeable  than 
do  others.  Thus  James  says:  "Whether  the  dog  has  the 
notion  of  your  being  angry  or  of  your  property  being 
valuable  in  any  such  abstract  way  as  we  have  these  no- 
tions, is  more  than  doubtful.  The  conduct  is  more  likely 
an  impulsive  result  of  a  conspiracy  of  outward  stimuli; 
the  beast  feels  like  acting  so  when  these  stimuli  are  pres- 


THE  MORAL  SITUATION  205 

ent,  though  conscious  of  no  definite  reason  why"  ^  (^Psy- 
chologyy  Vol.  II.,  p.  350,  note).  Or  putting  it  the  other 
waj:lif  the  dog  has  an  idea  of  the  results  of  guarding 
the  house,  and  is  controlled  in  what  he  does  by  loyalty  to 
this  idea,  by  the  satisfaction  which  he  takes  in  it,  then 
in  calling  the  dog  good  we  mean  that  in  being  good  for 
a  certain  result,  he  is  also  morally  good'  I 

(3)  Non-moral  Human  Acts. — There  are  also  acts 
evoked  by  an  idea  of  value  in  the  results  to  be  reached, 
which  are  not  judged  as  coming  within  the  moral  sphere. 
"Conduct  is  three-fourths  of  life,"  but  in  some  sense  it  is 
more:  it  is  four-fourths.  (^All  conscious  human  life  is 
concerned  with  ends,  and  with  selecting,  arranging,  and 
employing  the  means,  intellectual,  emotional,  and  prac- 
tical, involved  in  these  ends.  This  makes  conduct.  1  But 
it  does, not  follow  that  all  conduct  has  moral  import. 
"As  currently  conceived,  stirring  the  fire,  reading  a  news- 
paper, or  eating  a  meal,  are  acts  with  which  morality 
has  no  concern.  Opening  the  window  to  air  the  room, 
putting  on  an  overcoat  when  the  weather  is  cold,  are 
thought  of  as  having  no  ethical  significance.  These,  how- 
ever, are  all  portions  of  conduct"  (Spencer,  Principles  of 
Ethics,  Vol.  I.,  p.  5).  They  all  involve  the  idea  of  some 
result  worth  reaching,  and  the  putting  forth  of  energy 
to  reach  the  result — of  intelligently  selected  and  adapted 
means.  But  this  may  leave  the  act  morally  indifferent — 
innocent. 

Introduction  of  Moral  Factor. — ^A  further  quotation 
from  Spencer  may  introduce  discussion  of  the  needed 
moral  qualification: 

"As  already  said,  a  large  part  of  the  ordinary  conduct  is  in- 
different.    Shall  I  walk  to  the  water  fall  today  .f*  or,  shall  I 

*  Of  course,  this  is  also  true  of  a  large  part  of  human  activity.  But 
these  are  also  the  cases  in  which  we  do  not  ascribe  moral  value;  or 
at  least  we  do  not  except  when  we  want  to  make  the  agent  conscious 
of  some  reason  why. 


206  THE  MORAL  SITUATION 

ramble  along  the  sea  shore?  Here  the  ends  are  ethically 
indifferent.  If  I  go  to  the  water  fall,  shall  I  go  over  the 
moor  or  take  the  path  through  the  wood?  Here  the  means 
are  ethically  indifferent.  ...  But  if  a  friend  who  is  with  me 
has  explored  the  sea  shore,  but  has  not  seen  the  water  fall, 
the  choice  of  one  or  other  end  is  no  longer  ethically  indif- 
ferent. Again,  if  a  probable  result  of  making  the  one  ex- 
cursion rather  than  the  other,  is  that  I  shall  not  be  back  in 
time  to  keep  an  appointment,  or  if  taking  the  longer  route  en- 
tails this  risk  while  the  shorter  does  not,  the  decision  in  favor 
of  one  end  or  means  acquires  in  another  way  an  ethical 
character"  (Spencer,  Principles  of  Ethics,  pp.  5-6). 

This  illustration  suggests  two  diff'ering  types  of  conduct; 
two  diff*ering  ways  in  which  activity  is  induced  and  guided 
by  ideas  of  valuable  results.  In  one  case  the  end  presents 
itself  directly  as  desirable,  and  the  question  is  only  as 
to  the  steps  or  means  of  achieving  this  end.  Here  we  have 
conduct  which,  although  excited  and  directed  by  consid- 
erations of  value,  is  still  morally  indiff^erent.  Such  is  the 
condition  of  things  wherever  one  end  is  taken  for  granted 
hy  itself  without  any  consideration  of  its  relationship 
to  other  ends.f^t  is  then  a  technical  rather  than  a 
moral  affair.  It  is  a  question  of  taste  and  of  skill — 
of  personal  preference  and  of  practical  wisdom,  or  of 
economy,  expediency.  There  are  many  diff'erent  roads  to 
most  results,  and  the  selection  of  this  path  rather  than 
that,  on  the  assumption  that  either  path  actually  leads 
to  the  end,  is  an  intellectual,  aesthetic,  or  executive,  rather 
than  an  ethical  matter.  I  may  happen  to  prefer  a  marine 
view  to  that  of  the  uplands — that  is  an  aesthetic  interest. 
I  may  wish  to  utilize  the  time  of  the  walk  for  thinking, 
and  may  find  the  moor  path  less  distracting;  here  is  a 
matter  of  intellectual  economy.  Or  I  may  conclude  that 
I  shall  best  get  the  exercise  I  want  by  going  to  the  water 
fall.  Here  it  is  a  question  of  "prudence,"  of  expediency, 
or  practical  wisdom.  Let  any  one  of  the  ends,  aesthetic, 
intellectual,   hygienic,    stand   alone   and   it   is    a   fit   and 


THE  MORAL  SITUATION  207 

proper  consideration.  The  moral  issue  does  not  arise. 
Or  the  various  ends  may  be  regarded  as  means  to  a 
further  unquestioned  end — say  a  walk  with  the  maximum 
of  combined  aesthetic  interest  and  physical  exercise. 

(4)  Criterion  for  Moral  Factor. — But  let  the  value  of 
one  proposed  end  be  felt  to  be  really  incompatible  with 
that  of  another,  let  it  be  felt  to  be  so  opposed  as 
to  appeal  to  a  different  kind  of  interest  and  choice,  in 
other  words,  to  different  kinds  of  disposition  and  agency, 
and  we  have  a  moral  situation.  This  is  what  occurs  when 
one  way  of  traveling  means  self-indulgence;  another, 
kindliness  or  keeping  an  engagement.  There  is  no  longer 
one  end,  nor  two  ends  so  homogeneous  that  they  may  be 
reconciled  by  both  being  used  as  means  to  some  more 
general  end  of  undisputed  worth.  We  have  alternative 
ends  so  heterogeneous  that  choice  has  to  be  made;  an 
end  has  to  be  developed  out  of  conflict.  The  problem  now 
becomes  what  is  really  valuable.  It  is  the  nature  of  the 
valuable,  of  the  desirable,  that  the  individual  has  to  pass 
upon.^ 

Suppose  a  person  has  unhesitatingly  accepted  an  end, 
has  acquiesced  in  some  suggested  purpose.  Then,  starting 
to  realize  it,  he  finds  the  affair  not  so  simple.  He  is  led  to 
review  the  matter  and  to  consider  what  really  constitutes 
worth  for  him.  The  process  of  attainment  calls  for  toil 
which  is  disagreeable,  and  imposes  restraints  and  aban- 
donments of  accustomed  enjoyments.  An  Indian  boy, 
for  example,  thinks  it  desirable  to  be  a  good  rider,  a  skil- 
ful shot,  a  sagacious  scout.  Then  he  "naturally,"  as  we 
say,  disposes  of  his  time  and  energy  so  as  to  realize 
his  purpose.  But  in  trying  to  become  a  "brave,"  he  finds 
that  he  has  to  submit  to  deprivation  and  hardship,  to 
forego  other  enjoyments  and  undergo  arduous  toil.     He 

*  While  we  have  employed  Spencer's  example,  it  should  be  noted 
that  incompatibility  of  ends  is  not  the  criterion  of  the  distinctively 
moral  situation  which  Spencer  himself  employs. 


208  THE  MORAL  SITUATION 

finds  that  the  end  does  not  mean  in  actual  realization  what 
it  meant  in  original  contemplation — something  that  often 
happens,  for,  as  Goldsmith  said:  "In  the  first  place,  we 
cook  the  dish  to  our  own  appetite;  in  the  latter,  nature 
cooks  it  for  us." 

This  change  in  apparent  worth  ;raises  a  new  question: 
Is  the  aim  first  set  up  of  the  value  it  seemed  to  be?  Is 
it,  after  all,  so  important,  so  desirable?  Are  not  other 
results,  playing  with  other  boys,  convivial  companionship, 
which  are  reached  more  easily  and  pleasantly,  really  more 
valuable?  The  labors  and  pains  connected  with  the  means 
employed  to  reach  an  end,  have  thrown  another  and  in- 
compatible end  into  consciousness.  The  individual  no 
longer  "naturally,"  but  "morally,"  follows  the  selected 
end,  whichever  of  the  two  it  be,  because  it  has  been  chosen 
after  conscious  valuation  of  competing  aims.  - 

Such  competitions  of  values  for  the  position  of  control 
of  action  are  inevitable  accompaniments  of  individual 
conduct,  whether  in  civilized  or  in  tribal  life.  A  child, 
for  example,  finds  that  the  fulfillment  of  an  appetite 
of  hunger  is  not  only  possible,  but  that  it  is  desirable — 
that  fulfillment  brings,  or  is,  satisfaction,  not  mere  satiety. 
Later  on,  moved  by  the  idea  of  this  sort  of  value,  he 
snatches  at  food.  Then  he  is  made  aware  of  other  sorts 
of  values  involved  in  the  act  performed — values  incompati- 
ble with  just  the  value  at  which  he  aimed.  He  brings  down 
upon  himself  social  disapproval  and  reproach.  He  is 
termed  rude,  unmannerly,  greedy,  selfish.  He  acted  in 
accordance  with  an  unhesitatingly  accepted  idea  of  value. 
But  while  reaching  one  result  he  accomplished  also  cer- 
tain other  results  which  he  did  not  intend,  results  in  the 
way  of  being  thought  ill  of,  results  which  are  disagree- 
able: negative  values.  He  is  taught  to  raise  the  question 
of  what,  after  all,  in  such  cases  is  the  really  desirable  or 
valuable.  Before  he  is  free  to  deliberate  upon  means,  he 
has  to  form  an  estimate  of  the  relative  worth  of  various 


THE  MORAL  SITUATION  ^09 

possible  ends,  and  to  be  willing  to  forego  one  and  select 
the  other.  The  chapters  on  Hebrew  and  Greek  moral 
development  have  shown  this  same  process  at  work  in  the 
life  of  a  people. 

Summary  and  Definition. — If  we  sum  up  the  three 
classes  of  instances  thus  far  considered,  we  get  the  fol- 
lowing defining  traits  of  a  moral  situation,  that  is, 
of  one  which  is  an  appropriate  subject  of  determinations 
of  right  and  wrong:  Moral  experience  is  (1)  a  matter 
of  conducts  behavior;  that  is,  of  activities  which  are  called 
out  by  ideas  of  the  worth,  the  desirability  of  results.  This 
evocation  by  an  idea  discriminates  it  from  the  so-called 
behavior  of  a  pump,  where  there  is  no  recognition  of  re- 
sults; and  from  conduct  attributed  to  the  lower  animals, 
where  there  are  probably  feelings  and  even  dim  imagery, 
but  hardly  ideas  of  the  comparative  desirability  or  value 
of  various  ends.  [  Moral  experience  is  (2)  that  kind  of 
conduct  in  which  there  are  ends  so  discrepant,  so  incom- 
patible, as  to  require  selection  of  one  and  rejection  of 
the  other.  This  perception  of,  and  selection  from,  incom- 
patible alternatives,  discriminates  moral  experience  from 
those  cases  of  conduct  which  are  called  out  and  directed 
by  ideas  of  value,  but  which  do  not  necessitate  passing 
upon  the  real  worth,  as  we  say,  of  the  value  selected. 
It  is  mcompatibility  of  ends  which  necessitates  consid- 
eration of  the  true  worth  of  a  given  end;  and  such 
consideration  it  is  which  brings  the  experience  into  the 
moral  sphere.  Conduct  as  moral  may  thus  be  defined  as 
activity  called  forth  and  directed  by  ideas  of  value  or 
worth,  where  the  values  concerned  are  so  mutually  incom- 
patible as  to  require  consideration  and  selection  before  an 
overt  action  is  entered  uponT 

End  Finally  at  Issue. — Many  questions  about  ends  are 
in  reality  questions  about  means:  the  artist  considers 
whether  he  will  paint  a  landscape  or  a  figure;  this  or 
that  landscape,  and  so  on.    The  general  character  of  the 


210  THE  MORAL  SITUATION 

end  is  unchanged :  it  is  to  paint.  But  let  this  end  persist 
and  be  felt  as  desirable,  as  valuable;  let  at  the  same 
time  an  alternative  end  presents  itself  as  also  desirable 
(say  keeping  an  engagement),  so  that  the  individual  does 
not  find  any  way  of  adjusting  and  arranging  them  into 
a  common  scheme  (like  doing  first  one  and  then  the  other), 
and  the  person  has  a  moral  problem  on  his  hands.  Which 
shall  he  decide  for,  and  why.^^  The  appeal  is  to  himself; 
what  does  he  really  think  the  desirable  end.''  What 
makes  the  supreme  appeal  to  him.''  What  sort  of  an 
agent,  of  a  person,  shall  he  be  ?  This  is  the  question  finally 
at  stake  in  any  genuinely  moral  situation :  What  shall  the 
agent  he?  What  sort  of  a  character  shall  he  assume? 
On  its  face,  the  question  is  what  he  shall  do,  shall  he  act 
for  this  or  that  end.  But  the  incompatibility  of  the  ends 
forces  the  issue  back  into  the  question  of  the  kinds  of 
selfhood,  of  agency,  involved  in  the  respective  ends,  i  The 
distinctively  moral  situation  is  then  one  in  which  ele- 
ments of  value  and  control  are  bound  up  with  the  processes 
of  deliberation  and  desire ;  and  are  bound  up  in  a  peculiar 
way:  viz.,  they  decide  what  kind  of  a  character  shall 
control  further  desires  and  deliberations.  When  ends  are 
genuinely  incompatible,  no  common  denominator  can  be 
found  except  by  deciding  what  sort  of  character  is  most 
highly  prized  and  shall  be  given  supremacy. 

The  Moral  and  Indifferent  Situations. — This  criterion 
throws  lights  upon  our  earlier  discussion  of  morally  indif- 
ferent acts.  \^  Persons  perform  the  greater  bulk  of  their  ac-  ^ 
tivities  without  any  conscious  reference  to  considerations  ji 
of  right  and  wrong,  as  any  one  may  verify  for  himself  by  f 
recollecting  the  general  course  of  his  activity  on  any  or-  I 
dinary  day  from  the  time  he  arises  in  the  morning  to  the 
time  he  goes  to  bed  at  night/]  His  deliberations  and  wants 
are  mostly  concerned  with  the  ends  involved  in  his  regular 
vocation  and  recreations.    But  at  any  time  the  question  of 
his  character  as  concerned  with  what  he  is  doing  may  arise 


r^ 


THE  MORAL  SITUATION  211 

for  judgment.  The  person  may  later  on  realize  that  the 
type  or  kind  of  character  which  is  to  prevail  in  his  further 
activity  was  involved  in  deeds  which  were  performed  with- 
out any  such  thought.  He  then  judges  them  morally,  ap- 
proving or  disapproving.  On  the  other  hand,  a  course  of 
action  which  at  the  time  presented  a  moral  crisis  even,  may 
afterwards  come  to  be  followed  as  a  matter  of  course. 
There  is  then  no  f,xed  line  between  the  morally  indifferent 
and  the  morally  significant,  ^very  act  is  potential  sub- 
ject-matter of  moral  judgment,  for  it  strengthens  or  weak- 
ens some  habit  which  influences  whole  classes  of  judgments. 


LITERATURE 

There  are  comparatively  few  distinct  analyses  of  the  moral  situa- 
tion, the  topic  generally  being  treated  as  a  running  part  of  the 
theory  of  the  author,  or  in  connection  with  an  account  of  character 
or  conduct  (see  references  at  end  of  ch.  xiii.).  See,  however,  Mezes, 
Ethics,  Descriptive  and  Explanatory,  ch.  ii.;  Martineau,  Types  of 
Ethical  Theory,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  17-54;  Spencer,  Principles  of  Ethics, 
Vol.  I.,  Studies  in  Logical  Theory;  Stuart,  essay  on  Valuation  as  a 
Logical  Process,  pp.  237-241,  257-258,  273-275,  289-293;  Dewey,  Logi- 
cal Conditions  of  a  Scientific  Treatment  of  Morality;  Mead,  Philo- 
sophical Basis  of  Ethics,  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  April, 
1908;  Fite,  Introductory  Study  of  Ethics,  chs.  ii.,  xviii.,  and  xix. 


CHAPTER  XI 
PROBLEMS  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

We  have  identified  in  its  framework  and  main  outlines 
the  sort  of  voluntary  activity  in  which  the  problem  of 
good  and  evil  appears  and  in  which  the  ideas  of  right  and 
wrong  are  employed.  This  task,  however,  is  only  prelimi- 
nary to  theoretical  analysis.  For  it  throws  no  light  upon 
just  what  we  mean  by  good  and  bad ;  just  what  elements  of 
complex  voluntary  behavior  are  termed  right  or  wrong ;  or 
why  they  are  so  termed.  It  does  not  even  indicate  what 
must  be  discovered  before  such  questions  can  be  answered. 
It  only  sets  forth  the  limits  of  the  subject-matter  within 
which  such  questions  arise  and  in  reference  to  which 
they  must  be  answered.  What  are  the  distinctive  prob- 
lems which  must  be  dealt  with  in  the  course  of  such  a 
discussion  ? 

Growth  of  Theory  from  Practical  Problems. — Of  one 
thing  we  may  be  sure.  If  inquiries  are  to  have  any  sub- 
stantial basis,  if  they  are  not  to  be  wholly  up  in  the  air, 
the  theorist  must  take  his  departure  from  the  problems 
which  men  actually  meet  in  their  own  conduct.  He  may 
define  and  refine  these;  he  may  divide  and  systematize;  he 
may  abstract  the  problems  from  their  concrete  contexts 
in  individual  lives ;  he  may  classify  them  when  he  has  thus 
detached  them ;  but  if  he  gets  away  from  them  he  is  talk- 
ing about  something  which  his  own  brain  has  invented, 
not  about  moral  realities.  On  the  other  hand,  the  perplex- 
ities and  uncertainties  of  direct  and  personal  behavior  in- 
vite a  more  abstract  and  systematic  impersonal  treatment 

212 


PROBLEMS  OF  MORAL  THEORY  213 

than  that  which  they  receive  in  the  exigencies  of  their  occur- 
rence. The  recognition  of  anj  end  or  authority  going  be- 
yond what  is  embodied  in  existing  customs,  involves  some 
appeal  to  thought,  and  moral  theory  makes  this  appeal  more 
explicit  and  more  complete.  If  a  child  asks  why  he  should 
tell  the  truth,  and  is  answered,  "because  you  ought  to  and 
that  is  reason  enough" ;  or,  "because  it  will  prove  profitable 
for  you  to  do  so" ;  or,  "because  truth-telling  is  a  condition 
of  mutual  communication  and  common  aims,"  the  answer 
implies  a  principle  which  requires  only  to  be  made  ex- 
plicit to  be  full-fledged  theory.  And  when  this  principle  is 
compared  with  those  employed  in  other  cases  to  see  if  they 
are  mutually  consistent ;  and  if  not,  to  find  a  still  more 
fundamental  r,econciling  principle,  we  have  passed  over 
the  border  into  ethical  system. 

Types  of  Theoretical  Problems. — The  practical  prob- 
lems which  a  thoughtful  and  progressive  individual  must 
consider  in  his  own  conduct  will,  then,  give  the  clue  to  the 
genuine  problems  of  moral  theory.  The  framework  of 
one  is  an  outline  of  the  other.  The  man  who  does  not  satisfy 
himself  with  sheer  conventional  conformity  to  the  customs, 
the  ethos,  of  his  class  will  find  such  problems  as  the  fol- 
lowing forced  upon  his  attention: — (1)  He  must  consider 
the  meaning  of  habits  which  have  been  formed  more  or  less 
unreflectively — by  imitation,  suggestion,  and  inculcation 
from  others — and  he  must  consider  the  meaning  of  those  cus- 
toms about  him  to  which  he  is  invited  to  conform  till  they 
have  become  personal  habits.  This  problem  of  discovering 
the  meaning  of  these  habits  and  customs  is  the  problem  of 
stating  what,  after  all,  is  really  good,  or  worth  while  in 
conduct.  (2)  The  one  whose  morality  is  of  the  reflective 
sort  will  be  faced  by  the  problem  of  moral  advance,  of 
progress  beyond  the  level  which  has  been  reached  by  this 
more  or  less  unreflective  taking  on  of  the  habits  and  ideas 
of  those  about  him,  progress  up  to  the  level  of  his  own 
reflective  insight.    Otherwise  put,  he  has  to  face  the  prob- 


214  PROBLEMS  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

lem  of  what  is  to  be  the  place  and  role  in  his  own  conduct 
of  ideals  and  principles  generated  not  by  custom  but  by 
deliberation  and  insight.  (3)  The  individual  must  con- 
sider more  consciously  the  relation  between  what  is  cur- 
rently regarded  as  good  by  the  social  groups  in  which  he 
is  placed  and  in  j^hich  he  has  to  act,  and  that  regarded  as 
good  by  himself.  The  moment  he  ceases  to  accept  conformity 
to  custom  as  an  adequate  sanction  of  behavior,  he  is  met  by 
discrepancy  between  his  personally  conceived  goods  and 
those  reigning  in  the  customs  about  him.  Now  while  this 
detachment  makes  possible  the  birth  of  higher  and  more  ^ 
ideal  types  of  morality,  and  hence  of  systematic  effort  for 
social  reform  and  advance;  it  also  makes  possible  (as  we 
have  seen  on  the  historical  side,  p.  189)  a  more  generalized 
and  deliberate  selfishness ;  a  less  instinctive  and  more  inten- 
tional pursuit  of  what  the  individual  judges  to  be  good 
for  himself  against  what  society  exacts  as  good  for  itself.  / 
The  same  reflective  attitude  which  generates  the  conscien- 
tious moral  reformer  may  generate^  also  a  more  deliber- 
ate and  resolute  anti-social  egoism.  In  any  case,  the  indi- 
vidual who  has  acquired  the  habit  of  moral  reflection,  is 
conscious  of  a  new  problem — the  relation  of  public  good 
to  individual  good.  In  short,  the  individual  who  is 
thoughtfully  serious  and  who  aims  to  bring  his  habit  of  re- 
flection to  bear  on  his  conduct,  will  have  occasion  (1)  to 
search  for  the  elements  of  good  and  bad,  of  positive  and 
negative,  value  in  the  situations  that  confront  him;  (2) 
to  consider  the  methods  and  principles  by  which  he  shall 
reach  conclusions,  and  (3)  to  consider  the  relations  be- 
tween himself,  his  own  capacities  and  satisfactions,  and 
the  ends  and  demands  of  the  social  situations  in  which  he 
is  placed. 

The  Corresponding  Problems  of  Theory. — Theory  will 
then  have  similar  problems  to  deal  with(  (1)  What  is  the 
Good,  the  end  in  any  voluntary  act?  (2)  How  is  this 
good  known?    Is  it  directly  perceived,  and  if  so,  how.?    Or 

\ 


PROBLEMS  OF  MORAL  THEORY  215 

is  it  worked  out  through  inquiry  and  reflection?  And  if 
so,  how?  (3)  When  the  good  is  known,  how  is  it  acknowl- 
edged; how  does  it  acquire  authority?  What  is  the  place 
of  law,  of  control,  in  the  moral  life?  Why  is  it  that  some 
ends  are  attractive  of  themselves,  while  others  present 
themselves  as  duties,  as  involving  subordination  of  what 
is  naturally  attractive?  (4)  What  is  the  place  of  self- 
hood in  the  moral  process?  And  this  question  assumes 
two  forms :  (a)  What  is  the  relation  of  the  good  of  the  self 
to  the  good  of  others?  (b)  What  is  the  difference  between 
the  morally  good  and  the  morally  bad  in  the  self?  What 
are  virtues  and  vices  as  dispositions  of  the  self?  These 
abstract  and  formal  questions  will  become  more  concrete  if 
we  consider  them  briefly  in  the  order  of  their  development 
in  the  history  of  the  moral  theory.^ 

Problem  of  Knowledge  of  Good  Comes  First  in  Theory. 
— The  clash  and  overlapping  of  customs  once  so  local  as 
to  be  isolated,  brought  to  Athenian  moral  philosophers  the 
problem  of  discovering  the  underlying  and  final  good  to 
which  all  the  conflicting  values  of  customs  might  be  re- 
ferred for  judgment.  The  movement  initiated  by  Soc- 
rates was  precisely  the  effort  to  find  out  what  is  the  real 
good,  the  true  end,  of  all  the  various  institutions,  customs, 
and  procedures  current  among  men.  The  explanation  of 
conflict  among  men's  interests,  and  of  lack  of  consistency 
and  unity  in  any  given  person's  behavior,  of  the  division  of 
classes  in  the  state,  of  the  diverse  recommendations  of  dif- 
ferent would-be  moral  teachers,  was  that  they  were  igno- 
rant of  their  own  ends.  Hence  the  fundamental  precept 
is  "Know  thyself,"  one's  own  end,  one's  good  and  one's 
proper  function.  Different  followers  of  Socrates  gave 
very  different  accounts  of  knowledge,  and  hence  proposed 
very  different  final  aims.  But  they  all  agreed  that  the 
problem  of  knowing  the  good  was  the  central  problem,  and 
that  if  this  were  settled,  action  in  accord  with  good  would 
follow  of  itself.    Could  it  be  imagined  that  man  could  know 


S16  PROBLEMS  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

his  own  good  and  yet  not  seek  it?  Ignorance  of  good  is 
evil  and  the  source  of  evil;  insight  into  the  real  good  will 
clear  up  the  confusion  and  partiality  which  makes  men 
pursue  false  ends  and  thus  straighten  out  and  put  in 
order  conduct.  Control  would  follow  as  a  matter  of 
course  from  knowledge  of  the  end.  Such  control  would  be 
no  matter  of  coercion  or  external  restriction,  but  of  subor- 
dination and  organization  of  minor  ends  with  reference  to 
the  final  end. 

Problem  of  Motive  Force.^ — The  problem  of  attaining 
this  knowledge  was  seen  to  be  attended,  however,  by  pe- 
culiar obstructions  and  difficulties,  the  growing  recogni- 
tion of  which  led  to  a  shifting  of  the  problem  itself.  The 
dilemma,  in  brief,  was  this :  The  man  who  is  already  good 
will  have  no  difficulty  in  knowing  the  good  both  in  gen- 
eral and  in  the  specific  clothing  under  which  it  presents 
itself  in  particular  cases.  But  the  one  who  does  not  yet 
know  the  good,  does  not  know  how  to  know  it.  His  igno- 
rance, moreover,  puts  positive  obstacles  in  his  way,  for 
it  leads  him  to  delight  in  superficial  ^nd  transitory 
ends.  This  delight  increases  the  hold  of  these  ends  upon 
the  agent ;  and  thus  it  builds  up  an  habitual  interest  in 
them  which  renders  it  impossible  for  the  individual  to  get 
a  glimpse  of  the  final  end,  to  say  nothing  of  a  clear  and 
persisting  view.  Only  if  the  individual  is  habituated,  exer- 
cised, 'practiced  in  good  ends  so  as  to  take  delight  in  them, 
while  he  is  still  so  immature  as  to  be  incapable  of  really 
knowing  how  and  why  they  are  good,  will  he  be  capable  of 
knowing  the  good  when  he  is  mature.  Pleasure  in  right 
ends  and  pain  in  wrong  must  operate  as  a  motive  force  in 
order  to  give  experience  of  the  good,  before  knowledge 
can  be  attained  and  operate  as  the  motor  force. 

*  On  the  practical  side,  this  was  always,  as  we  have  seen,  the 
prominent  problem  of  Hebrew  thought.  But  we  are  concerned  here 
with  the  statement  of  the  problem  by  Pl?ito  £^nd  Aristotle  from  the 
theoretical  side. 


PROBLEMS  OF  MORAL  THEORY  217 

Division  of  Problem. — But  the  exercise  and  training 
requisite  to  form  the  habits  which  make  the  individual  re- 
joice in  right  activity  before  he  knows  how  and  why  it  is 
right,  presuppose  adults  who  already  have  knowledge  of 
the  good.  They  presuppose  a  social  order  capable  not 
merely  of  giving  theoretic  instruction,  but  of  habituating 
the  young  to  right  practices.  But  where  shall  such  adults 
be  found,  and  where  is  the  social  order  so  good  that  it  is 
capable  of  right  training  of  its  own  immature  members? 
Hence  the  problem  again  shifts,  breaking  up  into  two 
parts.  On  the  one  hand,  attention  is  fixed  upon  the  irra- 
tional appetites,  desires,  and  impulses,  which  hinder  appre- 
hension of  the  good ;  on  the  other,  it  is  directed  to  the  polit- 
ical laws  and  institutions  which  are  capable  of  training 
the  members  of  the  State  into  a  right  manner  of  living.  ~7 
For  the  most  part,  these  two  problems  went  their 
own  way  independently  of  each  other,  a  fact  which  re-  < 
suited  in  the  momentous  breach  between  the  inner  and 
"spiritual,"  and  the  outer  and  "physical"  aspects  of 
behavior. 

Problem  of  Control  of  Affections  and  Desires. — If  it  is 
the  lively  movements  of  natural  appetites  and  desires 
which  make  the  individual  apprehend  false  goods  as  true 
ones,  and  which  present  obstacles  to  knowledge  of  the  true 
good,  the  serious  problem  is  evidently  to  check  and  so  far 
as  possible  to  abolish  the  power  of  desire  to  move  the  mind. 
Since  it  is  anger,  fear,  hope,  despair,  sexual  desire  which 
make  men  regard  particular  things  instead  of  the  final  end 
as  good,  the  great  thing  is  wholly  to  free  attention  and 
judgment  from  the  influence  of  such  passions.  It  may  be 
impossible  to  prevent  the  passions ;  they  are  natural  per- 
turbations. But  man  can  at  least  prevent  his  judgment 
of  what  is  good  or  bad  from  being  modified  by  them. 
The  Stoic  moral  philosophers  most  emphasized  the  mis- 
leading influence  of  desire  and  passion,  and  set  up  the 
ideal  of  apathy   (lack  of  passion)   and  "ataraxy"   (ab- 


218  PROBLEMS  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

sence  of  being  stirred  up).  Tbe  other  moral  schools,  the 
Sceptics  and  Epicureans,  also  made  independence  of  mind 
from  influence  of  passion  the  immediate  and  working  end; 
the  Sceptics  because  they  emphasized  the  condition  of  men- 
tal detachment  and  non-committal,  which  is  the  state  ap- 
propriate to  doubt  and  uncertainty ;  the  Epicureans  be- 
cause the  pleasures  of  the  mind  are  the  only  ones  not  at 
the  mercy  of  external  circumstances.  Mental  pleasures  are 
equable,  and  hence  are  the  only  ones  which  do  not  bring 
reactions  of  depression,  exhaustion,  and  subsequent  pain. 
The  problem  of  moral  theory  is  now  in  eff^ect,  if  not  in 
name,  that  of  control,  of  authority  and  subordination,  of 
checking  and  restraining  desire  and  passion. 

Problem  of  Control  of  Private  Interests  by  Law. 
— Such  views  could  at  the  best,  however,  affect  only  a  com- 
paratively small  number,  the  philosophers.  For  the  great 
masses  of  men  in  the  Roman  Empire,  the  problem  existed 
on  the  other  line:  by  what  laws  and  what  administra- 
tion of  laws  to  direct  the  outward  acts  of  men  into  right 
courses,  courses  at  least  sufficiently  right  so  as  to  maintain 
outward  peace  and  unity  through  the  vast  empire.  In  the 
Greek  city-state,  with  its  small  number  of  free  citizens  all 
directly  participating  in  public  aff^airs,  it  was  possible  to 
conceive  an  ideal  of  a  common  good  which  should  bind  all 
together.  But  in  an  Empire  covering  many  languages, 
religions,  local  customs,  varied  and  isolated  occupations, 
a  single  system  of  administration  and  law  exercised  from 
a  single  central  source  could  alone  maintain  the  requisite 
harmony.  The  problems  of  legislations,  codification,  and 
admistration  were  congenial  to  the  Latin  mind,  and  were 
forced  by  the  actual  circumstances.  From  the  external 
side,  then,  as  well  as  from  the  internal,  the  problem  of 
control  became  dominant  over  that  of  value  and  the 
good. 

Problem  of  Unification. — It  was  the  province  of  the 
ijioral  philosophers,  of  the  theologians,  of  the  church  to  at- 


PROBLEMS  OF  MORAL  THEORY  S19 

tempt  a  fusion  of  these  elements  of  inner  and  outer  control. 
It  was  their  aim  to  connect,  to  synthesize  these  factors  into 
one  commanding  and  comprehensive  view  of  life.  But  the 
characteristic  of  their  method  was  to  suppose  that  the  com- 
bination could  be  brought  about,  whether  intellectually  or 
practically,  only  upon  a  supernatural  basis,  and  by  super- 
natural resources.  From  the  side  of  the  natural  constitu- 
tion of  both  man  and  the  State,  the  various  elements  of  be- 
havior are  so  hopelessly  at  war  with  one  another  that 
there  is  no  health  in  them  nor  help  from  them.  The  appe- 
tites and  desires  are  directed  only  upon  carnal  goods  and 
form  the  dominant  element  in  the  person.  Even  when 
reason  gets  glimpses  of  the  good,  the  good  seen  is  narrow 
in  scope  and  temporal  in  duration ;  and  even  then  reason 
is  powerless  as  an  adequate  motive.  "We  perceive  the  bet- 
ter and  we  follow  the  worse."  Moreover,  it  is  useless  to 
seek  aid  from  the  habituation,  the  education,  the  discipline 
and  restraint  of  human  institutions.  They  themselves 
are  corrupt.  The  product  of  man's  lower  nature  cannot  be 
capable  of  enlightening  and  improving  that  nature;  at 
most  it  can  only  restrain  outer  action  by  appealing  to 
fear.  Only  a  divine  revelation  can  make  known  man's 
true  end;  and  only  divine  assistance,  embodied  in  the  or- 
dinances and  sacraments  of  the  supernaturally  founded 
and  directed  church,  can  bring  this  knowledge  home  to 
erring  individuals  so  as  to  make  it  effectual.  In  theory 
the  conception  of  the  end,  the  good,  was  supreme ;  but  man's 
true  good  is  supernatural  and  hence  can  be  achieved  only 
by  supernatural  assistance  and  in  the  next  world.  In 
practice,  therefore,  the  important  thing  for  man  in  his 
present  condition  is  implicit  reliance  upon  and  obedience 
to  the  requirements  of  the  church.  This  represents  on 
earth  the  divine  sovereign,  ultimate  source  of  all  moral 
law.  In  effect,  the  moral  law  became  a  net-work  of  ordi- 
nances, prescriptions,  commands,  rewards,  penalties,  pen- 
ances, and  remissions.     The  jural  point  of  view  was  com- 


220  PROBLEMS  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

pletely  enthroned.^  There  was  no  problem;  there  was  a 
final,  because  a  supernatural  solution. 

The  Problems  of  Individuality  and  Citizenship. — ^With 
the  Renaissance  began  the  revolt  against  the  jural  view  of 
life.  A  sense  of  the  joys  and  delights  which  attend  the 
free  and  varied  exercise  of  human  capacities  in  this  world 
was  reborn.  The  first  results  were  a  demand  for  natural 
satisfaction;  the  next  a  profound  reawakening  of  the  an- 
tique civic  and  political  consciousness.  The  first  in  its  re- 
action against  the  Middle  Ages  was  more  individualistic 
than  the  Greek  ideal,  to  which  it  was  in  some  respects  allied. 
The  Greek  had  emphasized  the  notion  of  value,  but  had  con- 
ceived this  as  generic,  as  the  fulfillment  of  the  essential  na- 
ture of  man  as  man.  But  with  the  moderns,  satisfaction, 
the  good,  meant  something  direct,  specific,  personal ;  some- 
thing the  individual  as  an  individual  could  lay  hold  of  and 
possess.  It  was  an  individual  right;  it  was  final  and  in- 
alienable. Nothing  had  a  right  to  intervene  or  deprive 
the  individual  of  it. 

This  extreme  individualistic  tendency  was  contempora- 
neous with  a  transfer  of  interest  from  the  supernatural 
church-state  over  to  the  commercial,  social,  and  political 
bodies  with  which  the  modern  man  found  himself  identified. 
The  rise  of  the  free  cities,  and  more  especially  the  develop- 
ment of  national  states,  with  the  growth  of  commerce  and 
exchange,  opened  to  the  individual  a  natural  social  whole. 
With  this  his  connections  were  direct,  in  this  he  gained 
new  outlets  and  joys,  and  yet  it  imposed  upon  him  defi- 
nite responsibilities  and  exacted  of  him  specific  burdens. 
If  the  individual  had  gained  a  new  sense  of  himself  as  an 
individual,  he  also  found  himself  enmeshed  in  national 
states  of  a  power  constantly  increasing  in  range  and  in- 
tensity.   The  problem  of  the  moral  theorists  was  to  recon- 

*  The  Ten  Commandments,  divided  and  subdivided  into  all  their 
conceivable  applications,  and  brought  home  through  the  confessional, 
were  the  specific  basis. 


PROBLEMS  OF  MORAL  THEORY  221 

cile  these  two  tendencies,  the  individualistic  and  that  of  po- 
litical centralization.  For  a  time,  the  individual  felt  the 
social  organization  in  which  he  was  set  to  be,  with  what- 
ever incidental  inconveniences,  upon  the  whole  an  outlet 
and  reenforcement  of  prized  personal  powers.  Hence  in 
observing  its  conditions,  he  was  securing  the  conditions  of 
his  own  peace  and  tranquillity  or  even  of  his  own  freedom 
and  achievement.  But  the  balance  was  easily  upset,  and 
the  problem  of  the  relation  of  the  individual  and  the  social, 
the  private  and  the  public,  was  soon  forced  into  prominence ; 
a  problem  which  in  one  form  or  other  has  been  the  central 
problem  of  modern  ethical  theory. 

Individualistic  Problem.— Only  for  a  short  time,  during 
the  first  flush  of  new  achievement  and  of  hopeful  adven- 
ture, did  extreme  individualism  and  social  interests  re- 
main naively  combined.  The  individualistic  tendency 
found  a  convenient  intellectual  tool  in  a  psychology  which 
resolved  the  individual  into  an  association  or  series  of 
particular  states  of  feeling  and  sensations ;  and  the  good 
into  a  like  collection  of  pleasures  also  regarded  as  partic- 
ular mental  states.  This  psychological  atomism  made  indi- 
viduals as  separate  and  disconnected  as  the  sensations 
which  constituted  their  selves  were  isolated  and  mutually 
exclusive.  Social  arrangements  and  institutions  were,  in 
theory,  justifiable  only  as  they  could  be  shown  to  augment 
the  sum  of  pleasurable  states  of  feeling  of  individuals. 
And  as,  quite  independent  of  any  such  precarious  theory, 
the  demand  for  reform  of  institutions  became  more  and 
more  imperative,  the  situation  was  packed  by  Rousseau 
into  a  formula  that  man  was  naturally  both  free  and  good, 
and  that  institutional  life  had  enslaved  and  thereby  de- 
praved him.  At  the  same  time,  there  grew  up  an  enthusi- 
astic and  optimistic  faith  in  "Nature,"  in  her  kindly  inten- 
tions for  the  happiness  of  humanity,  and  in  her  potency  to 
draw  it  to  perfection  when  artificial  restrictions  were  once 
out  of  the  way.     Individuals,  separate  in  themselves  and 


222  PROBLEMS  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

in  their  respective  goods,  were  thereby  brought  into  a  com- 
plete coincidence  and  harmony  of  interests.  Nature's  laws 
were  such  that  if  the  individual  obeyed  them  in  seeking  his 
own  good  he  could  not  fail  to  further  the  happiness  of 
others.  While  there  developed  in  France  (with  original 
initiative  from  England  )  this  view  of  the  internal  isolation 
and  external  harmony  of  men,  a  counterpart  movement 
took  place  in  Germany. 

The  Rationalistic  Problem. — German  thought  inherited 
through  both  Roman  law  and  the  natural  theology  and 
ethics  of  the  church,  the  conception  that  man's  rational 
nature  makes  him  sociable.  Stoicism,  with  its  materialistic 
idealism,  had  taught  that  all  true  laws  are  natural,  while 
all  laws  of  nature  are  diffusions  and  potencies  of  rea- 
son. As  they  bind  things  together  in  the  world,  so  they 
bind  men  together  in  societies.  Moral  theory  is  "Natural 
Law"  conceived  in  this  sense.  From  the  laws  of  reason,  re- 
garded as  the  laws  of  man's  generic  and  hence  sociable 
nature,  all  the  principles  of  jurisprudence  and  of  individ- 
ual morals  may  be  deduced.  But  man  has  also  a  sensuous 
nature,  an  appetitive  nature  which  is  purely  private  and 
exclusive.  Since  reason  is  higher  than  sense,  the  author- 
ity of  the  State  is  magnified.  The  juristic  point  of  view  was 
reinstated,  but  with  the  important  change  that  the  law 
was  that  of  a  social  order  which  is  the  realization  of  man's 
own  rational  being. ^  If  the  laws  of  the  State  were  criti- 
cized, the  reply  was  that  however  unworthy  the  civic 
regulations  and  however  desirable  their  emendation,  still 
the  State  is  the  expression  of  the  idea  of  reason,  that  is  of 
man  in  his  true  generic  nature.  Hence  to  attempt  to  over- 
throw the  government  is  to  attack  the  fundamental  and 
objective  conditions  of  moral  or  rational  life.  Without 
the  State,  the  particularistic,  private  side  of  man's  nature 

^  The  idealistic  philosophic  movement  beginning  with  Kant  is  in 
many  important  respects  the  outgrowth  of  the  earlier  Naturrecht  of 
the  moral  philosophers  from  Grotius  on. 


PROBLEMS  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

would  have  free  sway  to  express  itself.  Man's  true  moral 
nature  is  within.  We  are  then  left,  from  both  the  English- 
French  and  the  German  sides,  with  the  problem  of  the  rela- 
tion of  the  individual  and  the  social ;  of  the  relation  of  the 
inner  and  outer,  of  the  psychological  structure  of  the 
person  and  the  social  conditions  and  results  of  his  behavior. 


LITERATURE 

See  the  references  on  the  scope  and  methods  of  ethics  at  the  end 
of  ch.  i.  of  Part  I.,  and  also,  Sorley,  Ethics  of  Naturalism,  ch.  i.,  and 
his  Recent  Tendencies  in  Ethics;  Fite,  An  Introductory  Study  of 
Ethics,  ch.  ii.;  Bowne,  Principles  of  Ethics,  ch.  i.;  Seth,  Ethical 
Principles,  ch.  i.;  Martineau,  Types  of  Ethical  Theory,  Vol.  I.,  In- 
troduction; Hensel,  Problems  of  Ethics,  in  Vol.  I.  of  St.  Louis 
Congress  of  Arts  and  Science. 


CHAPTER  XII 
TYPES  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

§  1.    TYPICAL  DIVISIONS  OF  THEORIES 

Problems  and  Theories. — We  were  concerned  in  the 
last  chapter  with  the  iypical  problems  of  moral  theory. 
But  it  was  evident  that  theories  themselves  developed  and 
altered  as  now  this,  now  that,  problem  was  uppermost.  To 
regard  the  question  of  how  to  know  the  good  as  the  cen- 
tral problem  of  moral  inquiry  is  already  to  have  one  type 
of  theory;  to  consider  the  fundamental  problem  to  be 
either  the  subordination  or  the  satisfaction  of  desire  is 
to  have  other  types.  A  classification  of  types  of  theory  is 
rendered  difficult,  a  thoroughly  satisfactory  classification 
almost  impossible,  by  the  fact  that  the  problems  arrange 
themselves  about  separate  principles  leading  to  cross-divi- 
sions. All  that  we  may  expect  to  do  is  somewhat  arbitra- 
rily to  select  that  principle  which  seems  most  likely  to  be 
useful  in  conducting  inquiry. 

(i)  Teleological  and  Jural. — One  of  the  fundamental 
divisions  arises  from  taking  either  Value  or  Duty,  Good 
or  Right,  as  the  fundamental  idea.  Ethics  of  the  first 
type  is  concerned  above  all  with  ends;  hence  it  is  fre- 
quently called  teleological  theory  (Greek  reXo^y  end).  To 
the  other  type  of  theory,  obligations,  imperatives,  com- 
mands, law,  and  authority,  are  the  controlling  ideas.  By 
this  emphasis,  arise  the  jural  theories  (Latin,  juSy  law). 
At  some  point,  of  course,  each  theory  has  to  deal  with  the 
factor  emphasized  by  its  rival.  If  we  start  with  Law  as 
central,  the  good  resides  in  these  acts  which  conform  to 

224 


TYPICAL  DIVISIONS  OF  THEORIES       ^25 

its  obligations.  The  good  is  obedience  to  law,  submission 
to  its  moral  authority.  If  we  start  from  the  Good,  laws, 
rules,  are  concerned  with  the  means  of  defining  or  achiev- 
ing it. 

(2)  Individual  and  Institutional. — This  fundamental 
division  is  at  once  cut  across  by  another,  arising  from  em- 
phasizing the  problem  of  the  individual  and  the  social. 
This  problem  may  become  so  urgent  as  to  force  into 
the  background  the  conflict  between  teleological  and  jural 
theories,  while  in  any  case  it  complicates  and  subdivides 
them.  We  have  individualistic  and  institutional  types  of 
theory.  Consider,  for  example,  the  following  representa- 
tive quotations:  "No  school  can  avoid  taking  for  the  ulti- 
mate moral  aim  a  desirable  state  of  feeling  called  by  what- 
ever name — gratification,  enjoyment,  happiness.  Pleas- 
ure somewhere,  at  some  time,  to  some  being  or  beings,  is  an 
element  of  the  conception"  ;^  and  again,^  "the  good  is  uni- 
versally the  pleasurable."  And  while  the  emphasis  is  here 
upon  the  good,  the  desirable,  the  same  type  of  statement, 
as  respects  emphasis  upon  the  individual,  may  be  made 
from  the  side  of  duty.  For  example,  "it  is  the  very  essence 
of  moral  duty  to  be  imposed  by  a  man  on  himself."  ^ 
Contrast  both  of  these  statements  with  the  following: 
"What  a  man  ought  to  do,  or  what  duties  he  should  fulfill 
in  order  to  be  virtuous,  is  in  an  ethical  community  not 
hard  to  say.  He  has  to  do  nothing  except  what  is  pre- 
sented, expressed,  and  recognized  in  his  established  rela- 
tions."* *'The  individual  has  his  truth,  real  existence,  and 
ethical  status  only  in  being  a  member  of  the  State.  His 
particular  satisfactions,  activities,  and  way  of  life  have  in 
this  authenticated,  substantive  principle,  their  origin  and 


*  Spencer,  Principles  of  Ethics,  Vol.  I.,  p.  46,  and  p.  30.     (Italics 
not  in  original.) 

"  Green,  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  p.  354. 

•  Hegel's  Philosophy  of  Bight,  translated  by  Dyde,  Part  III.,  150 
(p.  159). 


TYPES  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

result."  ^  And  in  another  connection :  "The  striving  for  a 
morality  of  one's  own  is  futile  and  by  its  very  nature  im- 
possible of  attainment.  In  respect  to  morality  the  saying 
of  one  of  the  wisest  men  of  antiquity  is  the  true  one.  To 
be  moral  is  to  live  in  accord  with  the  moral  tradition  of 
one's  country."  ^  Here  both  the  good  and  the  law  of  the 
individual  are  placed  on  a  strictly  institutional  basis. 

(3)  Empirical  and  Intuitional. — Another  cross-division 
arises  from  consideration  of  the  method  of  ascertaining 
and  determining  the  nature  of  moral  distinctions:  the 
method  of  knowledge.  From  this  standpoint,  the  distinc- 
tion of  ethical  theories  into  the  empirical  (6jj,7reipiKO?) 
and  the  intuitional  (Latin,  intueor,  to  look  at  or  upon) 
represents  their  most  fundamental  cleavage.  One  view 
makes  knowledge  of  the  good  and  the  right  dependent 
upon  recollection  of  prior  experiences  and  their  conditions 
and  effects.  The  other  view  makes  it  an  immediate  appre- 
hension of  the  quality  of  an  act  or  motive,  a  trait  so  intrin- 
sic and  characteristic  it  cannot  escape  being  seen.  While 
in  general  the  empirical  school  has  laid  stress  upon  the 
consequences,  the  consequences  to  be  searched  for  were 
considered  as  either  individual  or  social.  Some,  like 
Hobbes,  have  held  that  it  was  directed  upon  law ;  to  knowl- 
edge of  the  commands  of  the  state.  And  similarly  the  di- 
rect perception  or  intuition  of  moral  quality  was  by 
some  thought  to  apply  to  recognition  of  differences  of 
value,  and  by  others  to  acknowledgment  of  law  and  au- 
thority, which  again  might  be  divine,  social,  or  personal. 
This  division  cleaves  straight  across  our  other  bases  of 
classification.  To  describe  a  theory  definitely,  it  would 
then  be  necessary  to  state  just  where  it  stood  with  refer- 
ence to  each  possible  combination  or  permutation  of  ele- 
ments of  all  three  divisions.     Moreover,  there  are  theories 

*  Hegel's  Philosophy  of  Bight,  translated  by  Dyde,  Part  IIL,  259 
(p.  241). 
'  Werke,  Book  I.,  389. 


VOLUNTARY  ACTIVITY  227 

which  attempt  to  find  a  deeper  principle  which  will  bridge 
the  gulf  between  the  two  opposites. 

Complexity  of  Subject-matter  and  Voluntary  Activity. 
— This  brief  survey  should  at  least  warn  us  of  the  com- 
plexity of  the  attempt  to  discriminate  types  of  theory,  and 
put  us  on  our  guard  against  undue  simplification.  It  may 
also  serve  to  remind  us  that  various  types  of  theory  are  not 
arbitrary  personal  devices  and  constructions,  but  arise 
because,  in  the  complexity  of  the  subject-matter,  one  ele- 
ment or  another  is  especially  emphasized,  and  the  other 
elements  arranged  in  different  perspectives.  As  a  rule,  all 
the  elements*  are  recognized  in  some  form  or  other  by  all 
theories ;  but  they  are  differently  placed  and  accounted  for. 
In  any  case,  it  is  voluntary  activity  with  which  we  are  con- 
cerned. The  problem  of  analyzing  voluntary  activity  into 
its  proper  elements,  and  rightly  arranging  them,  must 
coincide  finally  with  the  problem  of  the  relation  of  good 
and  law  of  control  to  each  other,  with  the  problem  of  the 
nature  of  moral  knowledge,  and  with  that  of  the  relation 
of  the  individual  and  social  aspects  of  conduct. 


§  2.    DIVISION     OF     VOLUNTARY     ACTIVITY    INTO     INNER    AND 

OUTER 

The  What  and  How  of  Activity. — Starting  from  the 
side  of  the  voluntary  act,  we  find  in  it  one  distinction  which 
when  forced  into  an  extreme  separation  throws  light  upon 
all  three  divisions  in  theory  which  have  been  noted.  This 
is  the  relation  between  desire  and  deliberation  as  mental 
or  private,  and  the  deed,  the  doing,  as  overt  and  pubhc. 
Is  there  any  intrinsic  moral  connection  between  the  mental 
and  the  overt  in  activity?  We  may  analyze  an  act  which 
has  been  accomplished  into  two  factors,  one  of  which  is 
said  to  exist  within  the  agent's  own  consciousness ;  while 
the  other,  the  external  execution,  carries  the  mental  into 
operation,  affects  the  world,  and  is  appreciable  by  others. 


228      TYPES  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

Now  on  the  face  of  the  matter,  these  two  things,  while  ca- 
pable of  intellectual  discrimination,  are  incapable  of  real 
separation.  The  "mental"  side,  the  desire  and  the  deliber- 
ation, is  for  the  sake  of  determining  what  shall  be  done; 
the  overt  side  is  for  the  sake  of  making  real  certain  prece- 
dent mental  processes,  which  are  partial  and  inadequate 
till  carried  into  effect,  and  which  occur  for  the  sake  of 
that  effect.  The  "inner"  and  "outer"  are  really  only  the 
"how"  and  the  "what"  of  activity,  neither  being  real  or 
significant  apart  from  the  other.     (See  ante,  p.  6). 

Separation    into    Attitude    and    Consequences But 

under  the  strain  of  various  theories,  this  organic  unity  has 
been  denied;  the  inner  and  the  outer  side  of  activity  have 
been  severed  from  one  another.  When  thus  divided,  the 
"inner"  side  is  connected  exclusively  with  the  will,  the  dis- 
position, the  character  of  the  person;  the  "outer"  side  of 
connected  wholly  with  the  consequences  which  flow  from  it, 
the  changes  it  brings  about.  Theories  will  then  vary  radi- 
cally according  as  the  so-called  inner  or  the  so-called 
outer  is  selected  as  the  bearer  and  carrier  of  moral  dis- 
tinctions. One  theory  will  locate  the  moral  quality  of  an 
act  in  that  from  which  it  issues;  the  other  in  that  into 
which  it  issues. 

The  following  quotations  put  the  contrast  in  a  nutshell, 
though  unfortunately  the  exact  meaning  of  the  second  is 
not  very  apparent  apart  from  its  context. 

"A  motive  is  substantially  nothing  more  than  pleasure  or 
pain  operating  in  a  certain  manner.  Now  pleasure  is  in  itself 
a  good;  nay,  even  setting  aside  immunity  from  pain,  the  only 
good.  ...  It  follows,  therefore,  immediately  and  incontest- 
ably  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  any  sort  of  motive  that  is 
in  itself  a  bad  one.  If  motives  are  good  or  bad,  it  is  only  on 
account  of  their  effects"  (Bentham,  Principles  of  Morals  and 
Legislation,  ch.  x.,  §2).  Over  against  this,  place  the  follow- 
ing from  Kant:  "Pure  reason  is  practical  of  itself  alone,  and 
gives  to  man  a  universal  law  which  we  call  the  Moral  Law. 
...  If  this  law  determines  the  will  directly    [without   any 


VOLUNTARY  ACTIVITY  ^^9 

reference  to  objects  and  to  pleasure  or  pain]  the  action  con- 
formed to  it  is  good  in  itself;  a  will  whose  principle  always 
conforms  to  this  law  is  good  absolutely  in  every  respect  and 
is  the  supreme  condition  of  all  good." 

If  now  we  recur  to  the  distinction  between  the  "what" 
and  the  "how"  of  action  in  the  light  of  these  quotations, 
we  get  a  striking  result.  "What"  one  does  is  to  pay 
money,  or  speak  words,  or  strike  blows,  and  so  on.  The 
"how"  of  this  action  is  the  spirit,  the  temper  in  which  it  is 
done.  One  pays  money  with  a  hope  of  getting  it  back,  or  to 
avoid  arrest  for  fraud,  or  because  one  wishes  to  discharge 
an  obligation ;  one  strikes  in  anger,  or  in  self-defense,  or  in 
love  of  country,  and  so  on.  Now  the  view  of  Bentham  says 
in  effect  that  the  "what"  is  significant,  and  that  the  "what" 
consists  ultimately  only  of  the  pleasures  it  produces;  the 
"how"  is  unimportant  save  as  it  incidentally  affects  re- 
sulting feelings.  The  view  of  Kant  is  that  the  moral  core 
of  every  act  is  in  its  "how,"  that  is  in  its  spirit,  its  actu- 
ating motive ;  and  that  the  law  of  reason  is  the  only  right 
motive.  What  is  aimed  at  is  a  secondary  and  (except  as 
determined  by  the  inner  spirit,  the  "how"  of  the  action)  an 
irrelevant  matter.  In  short  the  separation  of  the  mental 
and  the  overt  aspects  of  an  act  has  led  to  an  equally  com- 
plete separation  of  its  initial  spirit  and  motive  from  its 
final  content  and  consequence.  And  in  this  separation,  one 
type  of  theory,  illustrated  by  Kant,  takes  its  stand  on  the 
actuating  source  of  the  act ;  the  other,  that  of  Bentham, 
on  its  outcome.  For  convenience,  we  shall  frequently  refer 
to  these  types  of  theories  as  respectively  the  "attitude" 
and  the  "content" ;  the  formal  and  the  material ;  the  dis- 
position and  the  consequences  theory.  The  fundamental 
thing  is  that  both  theories  separate  character  and  conduct, 
disposition  and  behavior ;  which  of  the  two  is  most  empha- 
sized being  a  secondary  matter. 

Different  Ways  of  Emphasizing  Results. — There  are, 
however,  different  forms  of  the  consequences  or  "content" 


230      TYPES  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

theory — as  we  shall,  for  convenience,  term  it.  Some  writers, 
like  Spencer  as  quoted,  say  the  only  consequences  that  are 
good  are  simply  pleasures,  and  that  pleasures  differ  only  in 
intensityy  being  alike  in  everything  but  degree.  Others 
say,  pleasure  is  the  good,  but  pleasures  differ  in  quality 
as  well  as  intensity  and  that  a  certain  kind  of  pleasure 
is  the  morally  good.  Others  say  that  natural  satisfaction 
is  not  found  in  any  one  pleasure,  or  in  any  number  of 
them,  but  in  a  more  permanent  mood  of  experience,  which 
is  termed  happiness.  Happiness  is  different  from  a  pleas- 
ure or  from  a  collection  of  pleasures,  in  being  an  abiding 
consequence  or  result,  which  is  not  destroyed  even  by  the 
presence  of  pains  (while  a  pain  ejects  a  pleasure).  The 
pleasure  view  is  called  Hedonism;  the  happiness  view, 
Eudaimonism.^ 

Different  Forms  of  the  "Attitude"  Theory The  op- 
posite school  of  theory  holds  that  the  peculiar  character 
of  "moral"  good  is  precisely  that  it  is  not  found  in  con- 
sequences of  action.  In  this  negative  feature  of  the  defi- 
nition many  different  writers  agree;  there  is  less  har- 
mony in  the  positive  statement  of  just  what  the  moral 
good  is.  It  is  an  attribute  or  disposition  of  character, 
or  the  self,  not  a  trait  of  results  experienced,  and  in  gen- 
eral such  an  attribute  is  called  Virtue.  But  there  are 
as  many  differences  of  opinion  as  to  what  constitutes 
virtue  as  there  are  on  the  other  side  as  to  what  pleasure 
and  happiness  are.  In  one  view,  it  merges,  in  its  out- 
come at  least,  very  closely  with  one  form  of  eudaimon- 
ism.  If  happiness  be  defined  as  the  fulfillment  of  satis- 
faction of  the  characteristic  functions  of  a  human  being, 
while  a  certain  function,  that  of  reason,  is  regarded  as 
the  characteristic  human  trait  whose  exercise  is  the  virtue 


*  The  Greek  words  t^SoviJ,  pleasure,  and  eidaifwula,  happiness.  The 
latter  conception  is  due  chiefly  to  Aristotle.  Happiness  is,  however, 
a  good  translation  only  when  taken  very  vaguely.  The  Greek  term 
has  a  peculiar  origin  which  influenced  its  meaning. 


VOLUNTARY  ACTIVITY  231 

or  supreme  excellence,  it  becomes  impossible  to  maintain 
any  sharp  line  of  distinction.  Kant,  however,  attempted 
to  cut  under  this  union  of  happiness  and  virtue,  which 
under  the  form  of  perfectionism  has  been  attempted  by 
many  writers,  by  raising  the  question  of  motivation.  Why 
does  the  person  aim  at  perfection?  Is  it  for  the  sake  of 
the  resulting  happiness?  Then  we  have  only  Hedonism. 
Is  it  because  the  moral  law,  the  law  of  reason,  requires 
it?  Then  we  have  law  morally  deeper  than  the  end 
aimed  at. 

We  may  now  consider  the  bearing  of  this  discussion 
upon  theories  of  moral  knowledge  and  (2)  of  moral 
authority.^ 

I.  Characteristic  Theories  of  Moral  Knowledge. — (1) 
Those  who  set  chief  store  by  the  goods  naturally  expe- 
rienced, find  that  past  experiences  supply  all  the  data  re- 
quired for  moral  knowledge.  Pleasures  and  pains,  satisfac- 
tions and  miseries,  are  recurrent  familiar  experiences.  All 
we  have  to  do  is  to  note  them  and  their  occasions  (or,  put 
the  other  way,  to  observe  the  tendency  of  some  of  our  im- 
pulses and  acts  to  bring  pleasure  as  a  consequence,  of 
others  to  effect  misery),  and  to  make  up  our  ends  and 
aims  accordingly.  As  a  theory  of  moral  knowledge, 
Hedonism  is  thus  almost  always  allied  with  empiricism, 
understanding  by  empiricism  the  theory  that  particular 
past  experiences  furnish  the  method  of  all  ideas  and 
beliefs. 

(2)  The  theory  that  the  good  is  some  type  of  virtuous 
character  requires  a  special  organ  to  give  moral  knowl- 
edge. Virtue  is  none  the  less  the  Good,  even  when  it  is 
not  attained,  when  it  is  not  experienced,  that  is,  as  we 
experience  a  pleasure.  In  any  case,  it  is  not  good  because 
it  is  experienced,  but  because  it  is  virtue.  Thus  the  "atti- 
tude" theory  tends  to  connect  itself  with  some  form  of  In- 

*  The  differences  as  regards  self  and  society  will  be  considered  in 
later  chapters. 


232      TYPES  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

tuitionalism,  Rationalism,  or  Transcendentalism,  all  of 
these  terms  meaning  that  there  is  something  in  knowledge 
going  beyond  the  particular  experiences.  Intuitionalism 
holds  there  is  a  certain  special  faculty  which  reveals 
truths  beyond  the  scope  of  experience;  Rationalism,  that 
beside  the  particular  elements  of  experience  there  are 
universal  and  necessary  conceptions  which  regulate  it; 
Transcendentalism,  that  within  experience  there  is  a 
factor  derived  from  a  source  transcending  experience/ 

II.  Characteristic  Theories  of  Moral  Control. — The 
result  school  tends  to  view  authority,  control,  law,  obli- 
gation from  the  standpoint  of  means  to  an  end;  the 
moralistic,  or  virtue,  school  to  regard  the  idea  of  law  as 
more  fundamental  than  that  of  the  good.  From  the  first 
standpoint,  the  authority  of  a  given  rule  lies  in  its  power 
to  regulate  desires  so  that  after  all  pleasures — or  a  maxi- 
mum of  them,  and  a  minimum  of  pains — may  be  had.  At 
bottom,  it  is  a  principle  of  expediency,  of  practical  wis- 
dom, of  adjustment  of  means  to  end.  Thus  Hume  said: 
"Reason  is,  and  ought  only  to  be,  the  slave  of  the  passions" 
— that  is,  the  principles  and  rules  made  known  by  reason 
are,  at  last,  only  instruments  for  securing  the  fullest  sat- 
isfaction of  desires.  But  according  to  the  point  of  view 
of  the  other  school,  no  satisfaction  is  really  (i.e.,  morally) 
good  unless  it  is  acquired  in  accordance  with  a  law  exist- 
ing independently  of  pleasurable  satisfaction.  Thus  the 
good  depended  upon  the  law,  not  the  law  upon  the  desir- 
able end. 

§  3.     GENERAL  INTERPRETATION  OF  THESE  THEORIES 

The  Opposition  in  Ordinary  Life. — To  some  extent, 
similar  oppositions  are  latent  in  our  ordinary  moral  convic- 
tions,  without   regard   to   theory.      Indeed,   we   tend,   at 

*  For  similar  reasons,  the  "content"  theories  tend  to  ally  them- 
selves with  the  positive  sciences;  the  "attitude"  theories  with  phi- 
losophy as  distinct  from  sciences, 


INTERPRETATION  OF  THESE  THEORIES    233 

different  times,  to  pass  from  one  point  of  view  to  the 
other,  without  being  aware  of  it.  Thus,  as  against  the 
identification  of  goodness  with  a  mere  attitude  of  will; 
we  say,  "It  is  not  enough  for  a  man  to  be  good ;  he  must 
be  good  for  something."  It  is  not  enough  to  mean  well; 
one  must  mean  to  do  well;  to  excuse  a  man  by  saying 
"he  means  well,"  conveys  a  shade  of  depreciation.  "Hell 
is  paved  with  good  intentions."  Good  "resolutions,"  in 
general,  are  ridiculed  as  not  modifying  overt  action.  A 
tree  is  to  be  judged  by  its  fruits.  "Faith  without  works 
is  dead."  A  man  is  said  "to  be  too  good  for  this  world" 
when  his  motives  are  not  effective.  Sometimes  we  say, 
**So  and  so  is  a  good  man,"  meaning  to  say  that  that  is 
about  all  that  can  be  said  for  him — ^he  does  not  count, 
or  amount  to  anything,  practically.  The  objection  to 
identifying  goodness  with  inefficiency  also  tends  to  render 
suspected  a  theory  which  seems  to  lead  logically  to  such 
identification.  More  positively  we  dwell  upon  goodness 
as  involving  service;  "love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law," 
and  while  love  is  a  trait  of  character,  it  is  one  which  takes 
immediate  action  in  order  to  bring  about  certain  definite 
consequences.  We  call  a  man  Pharisaical  who  cherishes  his 
own  good  character  as  an  end  distinct  from  the  common 
good  for  which  it  may  be  serviceable. 

On  the  other  hand,  indicating  the  supremacy  of  the 
voluntary  attitude  over  consequences,  we  have,  "What 
shall  a  man  give  in  exchange  for  his  soul.^*"  "What  shall 
it  profit  a  man  if  he  shall  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his 
own  life?"  "Let  us  do  evil  that  good  may  come,  whose  dam- 
nation is  just."  The  deep-seated  objection  to  the  maxim 
that  the  end  justifies  the  means  is  hard  to  account  for, 
except  upon  the  basis  that  it  is  possible  to  attain  ends 
otherwise  worthy  and  desirable  at  the  expense  of  con- 
duct which  is  immoral.  Again,  compare  Shakspere's 
"There's  nothing  right  or  wrong,  but  thinking  makes 
H  so"  with  the  Biblical  "As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart, 


234      TYPES  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

so  is  he."  And  finally  we  have  such  sayings  as,  *'Take 
the  will  for  the  deed" ;  "His  heart  is  in  the  right  place" ; 
Pereat  mundus,  fiat  justitia. 

Passing  from  this  popular  aspect  of  the  matter,  we 
find  the  following  grounds  for  the  "content"  theory: 

I.  It  Makes  Morality  Really  Important. — Would  there 
be  any  use  or  sense  in  moral  acts  if  they  did  not  tend 
to  promote  welfare,  individual  and  social?  If  theft  uni- 
formly resulted  in  great  happiness  and  security  of  life, 
if  truth-telling  introduced  confusion  and  inefficiency  into 
men's  relations,  would  we  not  consider  the  first  a  virtue, 
and  the  latter  a  vice.'^  ^  So  far  as  the  identification  of 
goodness  with  mere  motive  (apart  from  results  effected  by 
acts)  reduces  morality  to  nullity,  there  seems  to  be  fur- 
nished a  reductio  ad  absurdum  of  the  theory  that  results 
are  not  the  decisive  thing. 

(2)  It  Makes  Morality  a  Definite,  Concrete  Thing. 
— Morality  is  found  in  consequences;  and  consequences 
are  definite,  observable  facts  which  the  individual  can  be 
made  responsible  for  noting  and  for  employing  in  the  direc- 
tion of  his  further  behavior.  The  theory  gives  morality 
an  objective,  a  tangible  guarantee  and  sanction.  More- 
over, results  are  something  objective,  common  to  differ- 
ent individuals  because  outside  them  all.  But  the  doctrine 
that  goodness  consists  in  motives  formed  by  and  within 
the  individual  without  reference  to  obvious,  overt  results, 
makes  goodness  something  vague  or  else  whimsical  and 
arbitrary.  The  latter  view  makes  virtue  either  something 
unattainable,  or  else  attained  by  merely  cultivating  certain 
internal  states  having  no  outward  results  at  all,  or  even 
results  that  are  socially  harmful.  It  encourages  fanati- 
cism, moral  crankiness,  moral  isolation  or  pride ;  obstinate 
persistence  in  a  bad  course  in  spite  of  its  demonstrable 

*  "Suppose  that  picking  a  man's  pocket  excited  in  him  joyful  emo- 
tions, by  brightening  his  prospects,  would  theft  be  counted  among 
crimes  ?" — Spencer, 


INTERPRETATION  OF  THESE  THEORIES    235 

evil  results.  It  makes  morality  non-progressive,  since  by 
its  assumption  no  amount  of  experience  of  consequences 
can  throw  any  light  upon  essential  moral  elements. 

(3)  The  Content  Theory  Not  Only  Puts  Morality 
Itself  upon  a  Basis  of  Facts,  but  Also  Puts  the  Theory  of 
Morality  upon  a  Solid  Basis — We  know  what  we  mean 
by  goodness  and  evil  when  we  discuss  them  in  terms  of 
results  achieved  or  missed,  and  can  therefore  discuss  them 
intelligibly.  We  can  formulate  concrete  ends  and  lay 
down  rules  for  their  attainment.  Thus  there  can  be 
a  science  of  morals  just  as  there  can  be  a  science  of  any 
body  of  observable  facts  having  a  common  principle. 
But  if  morality  depends  upon  purely  subjective,  personal 
motives,  no  objective  observation  and  common  interpreta- 
tion are  possible.  We  are  thrown  back  upon  the  capricious 
individual  ipse  dixit,  which  by  this  theory  is  made  final. 
Ethical  theory  is  rendered  impossible.  Thus  Bentham, 
who  brings  these  charges  (and  others)  against  the 
^'virtue"  theory  of  goodness,  says  at  the  close  of  the 
preface  to  his  Principles  of  Morals  and  Legislation  (ed. 
of  1823): 

"Truths  that  form  the  basis  of  political  and  moral  science 
are  not  to  be  discovered  but  by  investigations  as  severe  as 
mathematical  ones,  and  beyond  all  comparison  more  intricate 
and  extensive.  .  .  .  They  are  not  to  be  forced  into  detached 
and  general  propositions,  unincumbered  with  explanations 
and  exceptions.  They  will  not  compress  themselves  into  epi- 
grams. They  recoil  from  the  tongue  and  the  pen  of  the  de- 
claimer.  They  flourish  not  in  the  same  soil  with  sentiment. 
They  grow  among  thorns;  and  are  not  to  be  plucked,  like 
daisies,  by  infants  as  they  run.  .  .  .  There  is  no  King*s  Road 
...  to  legislative,  any  more  than  to  mathematical  science.'*  ^ 

*  Mill  in  his  Autobiography  has  given  a  striking  account  of  how 
this  phase  of  Utilitarianism  appealed  to  him.  (See  pp.  65-67  of  Lon- 
don edition  of  1874;  see  also  his  Dissertations  and  Discussions,  Vol. 
I.,  Essay  on  Bentham,  especially  pp.  339  and  flF.)  Bentham  "intro- 
duced into  morals  and  politics  those  habits  of  thought,  and  modes 
of  investigation,  which  are  essential  to  the  idea  of  science;  and  the 
absence  of  which  made  these  departments  of  inquiry,  as  physics  had 


236      TYPES  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

Arguments  not  unlike,  however,  may  be  adduced  in 
favor  of  the  attitude  theory. 

1.  It,  and  It  Alone,  Places  Morality  in  the  High  and 
Authoritative  Place  Which  by  Right  Characterizes  It. — 
Morality  is  not  just  a  means  of  reaching  other  ends; 
it  is  an  end  in  itself.  To  reduce  virtue  to  a  tool  or  instru- 
mentality for  securing  pleasure  is  to  prostitute  and  de- 
stroy it.  Unsophisticated  common  sense  is  shocked  at 
putting  morality  upon  the  same  level  with  prudence,  pol- 
icy, and  expediency.  Morality  is  morality,  just  because 
it  possesses  an  absolute  authoritativeness  which  they  lack. 

2.  The  Morally  Good  Must  be  Within  the  Power  of  the 
Individual  to  Achieve. — The  amount  of  pleasure  and 
pain  the  individual  experiences,  his  share  of  satisfaction, 
depends  upon  outward  circumstances  which  are  beyond 
his  control,  and  which  accordingly  have  no  moral  sig- 
nificance. Only  the  beginning,  the  willing,  of  an  act  lies 
with  the  man;  its  conclusion,  its  outcome  in  the  way  of 
consequences,  lies  with  the  gods.  Accident,  misfortune, 
unfavorable  circumstance,  may  shut  the  individual  within 
a  life  of  sickness,  misery,  and  discomfort.  They  may  deprive 
him  of  external  goods ;  but  they  cannot  modify  the  moral 
good,  for  that  resides  in  the  attitude  with  which  one  faces 
these  conditions  and  results.  Conditions  hostile  to  pros- 
been  before  Bacon,  a  field  of  interminable  discussion,  leading  to 
no  result.  It  was  not  his  opinions,  in  short,  but  his  method,  that 
constituted  the  novelty  and  value  of  what  he  did.  .  .  .  Bentham's 
method  may  be  shortly  described  as  the  method  of  detail.  .  .  .  Error 
lurks  in  generalities." 

Mill  finally  says:  "He  has  thus,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say,  for  the 
first  time  introduced  precision  of  thought  in  moral  and  political 
philosophy.  Instead  of  taking  up  their  opinions  by  intuition,  or  by 
ratiocination  from  premises  adopted  on  a  mere  rough  view,  and 
couched  in  language  so  vague  that  it  is  impossible  to  say  exactly 
whether  they  are  true  or  false,  philosophers  are  now  forced  to  under- 
stand one  another,  to  break  down  the  generality  of  their  proposi- 
tions, and  join  a  precise  issue  in  every  dispute.  This  is  nothing- 
less  than  a  revolution  in  philosophy."  In  view  of  the  character 
of  the  larger  amount  of  discussions  in  moral  and  political  philosophy 
still  current,  Mill  perhaps  took  a  too  optimistic  view  of  the  extent 
to  which  this  "revolution"  had  been  accomplished. 


INTERPRETATION  OF  THESE  THEORIES    237 

perity  may  be  only  the  means  of  calling  forth  virtues 
of  bravery,  patience,  and  amiability.  Only  consequences 
within  character  itself,  the  tendency  of  an  act  to  form  a 
habit  or  to  cultivate  a  disposition,  are  really  of  moral 
significance. 

3.  Motives  Furnish  a  Settled  and  Workable  Criterion 
by  Which  to  Measure  the  Rightness  or  Wrongness  of 
Specific  Acts. — Consequences  are  indefinitely  varied;  they 
are  too  much  at  the  mercy  of  the  unforeseen  to  serve  as 
basis  of  measurement.  One  and  the  same  act  may  turn 
out  in  a  hundred  different  ways  according  to  accidental 
circumstances.  If  the  individual  had  to  calculate  conse- 
quences before  entering  upon  action,  he  would  engage  in 
trying  to  solve  a  problem  where  each  new  term  intro- 
duced more  factors.  No  conclusion  would  ever  be  reached ; 
or,  if  reached,  would  be  so  uncertain  that  the  agent  would 
be  paralyzed  by  doubt.  But  since  the  motives  are  within 
the  person's  own  breast,  the  problem  of  knowing  the  right 
is  comparatively  simple:  the  data  for  the  judgment  are 
always  at  hand  and  always  accessible  to  the  one  who 
sincerely  wishes  to  know  the  right. 

Conclusion. — The  fact  that  common  life  recognizes, 
under  certain  conditions,  both  theories  as  correct,  and 
that  substantially  the  same  claims  may  be  made  for  both, 
suggests  that  the  controversy  depends  upon  some  under- 
lying misapprehension.  Their  common  error,  as  we  shall 
attempt  to  show  in  the  sequel,  lies  in  trying  to  split  a 
voluntary  act  which  is  single  and  entire  into  two  un- 
related parts,  the  one  termed  "inner,"  the  other,  "outer" ; 
the  one  called  "motive,"  the  other,  "end."  A  voluntary 
act  is  always  a  disposition,  or  habit  of  the  agent  passing 
into  a  overt  act,  which,  so  far  as  it  can,  produces  cer- 
tain consequences.  A  "mere"  motive  which  does  not  do 
anything,  which  makes  nothing  different,  is  not  a  genuine 
motive  at  all,  and  hence  is  not  a  voluntary  act.  On  the 
other  hand,  consequences  which  are  not  intended,  which 


238      TYPES  OF  MORAL  THEORY 

are  not  personally  wanted  and  chosen  and  striven  for, 
are  no  part  of  a  voluntary  act.  Neither  the  inner 
apart  from  the  outer,  nor  the  outer  apart  from  the  inner ^ 
has  any  voluntary  or  moral  quality  at  all.  The  former 
is  mere  passing  sentimentality  or  reverie;  the  latter  is 
mere  accident  or  luck. 

Tendency  of  Each  Theory  to  Pass  into  the  Other. — 
Hence  each  theory,  realizing  its  own  onesidedness,  tends 
inevitably  to  make  concessions,  and  to  borrow  factors 
from  its  competitor,  and  thus  insensibly  to  bridge  the  gap 
between  them.  Consequences  are  emphasized,  but  only 
foreseen  consequences ;  while  to  foresee  is  a  mental  act  whose 
exercise  depends  upon  character.  It  is  disposition,  in- 
terest, which  leads  an  agent  to  estimate  the  consequences 
at  their  true  worth;  thus  an  upholder  of  the  "content" 
theory  ends  by  falling  back  upon  the  attitude  taken  in 
forecasting  and  weighing  results.  In  like  fashion,  the 
representative  of  the  motive  theory  dwells  upon  the  tend- 
ency of  the  motive  to  bring  about  certain  effects.  The 
man  with  a  truly  benevolent  disposition  is  not  the  one  who 
indulges  in  indiscriminate  charity,  but  the  one  who  con- 
siders the  effect  of  his  gift  upon  its  recipient  and  upon 
society.  While  lauding  the  motive  as  the  sole  bearer  of 
moral  worth,  the  motive  is  regarded  as  a  force  working 
towards  the  production  of  certain  results.  When  the 
"content"  theory  recognizes  disposition  as  an  inherent 
factor  in  bringing  about  consequences,  and  the  "attitude" 
theory  views  motives  as  forces  tending  to  effect  conse- 
quences, an  approximation  of  each  to  the  other  has  taken 
place  which  almost  cancels  the  original  opposition.  It 
is  realized  that  a  complete  view  of  the  place  of  motive 
in  a  voluntary  act  will  conceive  motive  as  a  motor  force; 
as  inspiring  to  action  which  will  inevitably  produce 
certain  results  unless  this  is  prevented  by  superior  exter- 
nal force.  It  is  also  realized  that  only  those  consequences 
are  any  part  of  voluntary  behavior  which  are  so  con- 


INTERPRETATION  OF  THESE  THEORIES    239 

genial  to  character  as  to  appeal  to  it  as  good  and  stir 
it  to  effort  to  realize  them.  We  may  begin  the  analysis  of  a 
voluntary  act  at  whichever  end  we  please^  but  we  are 
always  carried  to  the  other  end  in  order  to  complete  the 
analysis.  The  so-called  distinction  between  the  "inner" 
and  "outer"  parts  of  an  act  is  in  reality  a  distinction 
between  the  earlier  and  the  later  period  of  its  develop- 
ment. 

In  the  following  chapter  we  shall  enter  upon  a  direct 
discussion  of  the  relation  of  conduct  and  character  to  one 
another ;  we  shall  then  apply  the  results  of  the  discussion, 
in  successive  chapters,  to  the  problems  already  raised: 
The  Nature  of  Good ;  of  Knowledge ;  of  Moral  Authority ; 
The  Relation  of  the  Self  to  Others  and  Society;  The 
Characteristics  of  the  Virtuous  Self. 


LITERATURE 

Many  of  the  references  in  ch.  xi.  trench  upon  this  ground.  Com- 
pare, also,  Lecky,  History  of  European  Morals,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  1-2,  and 
122-130;  Sidgwick,  Methods  of  Ethics,  pp.  6-11,  77-88  and  494-507; 
Wundt,  Ethics,  Vol.  II.,  ch.  iv.;  Mackenzie,  Marmal  of  Ethics,  Book 
II.,  ch.  ii.;  Murray,  Introduction  to  Ethics,  p.  143;  Paulsen,  System 
of  Ethics,  Introduction,  and  Book  II.,  ch.  i. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 

Problem  of  Chapter. — We  have  endeavored  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapters  (1)  to  identify  the  sort  of  situation  in 
which  the  ideas  of  good  and  evil,  right  and  wrong,  in 
their  moral  sense,  are  employed;  (2)  to  set  forth  the 
typical  problems  that  arise  in  the  analysis  of  this  situa- 
tion; and  (3)  to  name  and  describe  briefly  the  types  of 
theor^'^  which  have  developed  in  the  course  of  the  history  of 
the  problems.  We  have  now  to  return  to  the  moral  situa- 
tion as  described,  and  enter  upon  an  independent  analysis 
of  it.  We  shall  commence  this  analysis,  as  was  indicated 
in  the  last  chapter,  by  considering  the  question  of  the 
relation  of  attitude  and  consequences  to  each  other  in 
voluntary  activity, — not  that  this  is  the  only  way  to 
approach  the  problem,  but  that  it  is  the  way  which  brings 
out  most  clearly  the  points  at  issue  among  types  of 
moral  theory  which  since  the  early  part  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  have  had  the  chief  currency  and  influence. 
Accordingly  the  discussion  will  be  introduced  by  a  state- 
ment of  the  two  most  extreme  doctrines  that  separate  the 
*'inner"  and  the  "outer,"  the  "psychical"  and  the  "overt" 
aspects  of  activity:  viz.^  the  Kantian,  exclusively  em- 
phasizing the  "how,"  the  spirit,  and  motive  of  conduct; 
the  Utilitarian,  dwelling  exclusively  upon  its  what,  its 
eff^ects  and  consequences.  Our  positive  problem  is,  of 
course,  by  means  of  arraying  these  two  extreme  views 
against  each  other,  to  arrive  at  a  statement  of  the  mutual 
relations  of  attitude  and  act,  motive  and  consequence, 
character  and  conduct. 

240 


THE  GOOD  WILL  OF  KANT  Ml 

We  shall  begin  with  Kant  as  a  representative  of  the 
attitude  theory. 

§  1.    THE    GOOD    WILL    OF    KANT 

Kant  says : 

"Nothing  can  possibly  be  conceived,  in  the  world  or  out  of 
it,  which  can  be  called  Good  without  qualification,  except  a 
Good  Will.  Intelligence,  wit,  judgment,  and  the  other  talents 
of  the  mind,  however  they  may  be  named,  or  courage,  resolu- 
tion, perseverance  as  qualities  of  temperament  are  individu- 
ally good  and  desirable  in  many  respects;  but  these  gifts  of 
nature  may  also  become  extremely  bad  and  mischievous,  if 
the  will  which  is  to  make  use  of  them  and  which,  therefore, 
constitutes  what  is  called  character,  is  not  good.  It  is  the 
same  w4th  the  gifts  of  fortune.  Power,  riches,  honor,  even 
health  .  .  .  inspire  pride  and  often  presumption  if  there  is 
not  a  Good  Will  to  correct  the  influence  of  these  on  the  mind. 
Moderation  of  the  affections  and  passions,  self-control  and 
calm  deliberation  are  not  only  good  in  many  respects,  but  even 
seem  to  constitute  part  of  the  intrinsic  worth  of  the  person; 
but  they  are  far  from  deserving  to  be  called  good  without 
qualification  .  .  .  for  without  the  principles  of  a  good  will 
they  may  become  extremely  bad.  The  coolness  of  a  villain 
makes  him  both  more  dangerous  and  more  abominable"  (Kant: 
Theory  of  Ethics,  tr.  by  Abbott,  pp.  9-10). 

Element  of  Truth  in  Statement. — There  can  be  no 
doubt  that  in  some  respects  these  ideas  of  Kant  meet 
a  welcome  in  our  ordinary  convictions.  Gifts  of  fortune, 
talents  of  mind,  qualities  of  temperament,  are  regarded 
as  desirable,  as  good,  but  we  qualify  the  concession.  We 
say  they  are  good,  if  a  good  use  is  made  of  them;  but 
that,  administered  by  a  bad  character,  they  add  to  power 
for  evil.  Moreover,  Kant's  statement  of  the  intrinsic 
goodness  of  the  Good  Will,  "A  jewel  which  shines  by  its 
own  light"  (Ibid.,  p.  10),  awakens  ready  response  in  us. 
Some  goods  we  regard  as  means  and  conditions — ^health, 
wealth,  business,  and  professional  success.      They  afford 


242      CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 

moral  opportunities  and  agencies,  but  need  not  possess 
moral  value  in  and  of  themselves ;  when  they  become  parts, 
as  they  may,  of  a  moral  good,  it  is  because  of  their  place 
and  context.  Personality,  character,  has  a  dignity  of 
its  own,  which  forbids  that  it  be  considered  a  simple 
means  for  the  acquisition  of  other  goods.  The  man  who 
makes  his  good  character  a  simple  tool  for  securing 
political  preferment,  is,  we  should  say,  prostituting  and 
so  destroying  his  own  goodness. 

Ambiguity  of  Statement. — The  statement  made  by 
Kant,  however,  is  ambiguous  and  open  to  opposed  inter- 
pretations. The  notion  that  the  Good  Will  is  good  in 
and  of  itself  may  be  interpreted  in  two  different  ways: 
(i)  We  may  hold,  for  example,  that  honesty  is  good  as 
a  trait  of  will  because  it  tends  inevitably  to  secure  a 
desirable  relationship  among  men ;  it  removes  obstructions 
between  persons  and  keeps  the  ways  of  action  clear  and 
open.  Every  man  can  count  upon  straightforward  action 
when  all  act  from  honesty;  it  secures  for  each  singleness 
of  aim  and  concentration  of  energy,  (ii)  But  we  may 
also  mean  that  honesty  is  absolutely  good  as  a  trait 
of  character  just  in  and  by  itself,  quite  apart  from  any 
influence  this  trait  of  character  has  in  securing  and  pro- 
moting desirable  ends.  In  one  case,  we  emphasize  its 
goodness  because  it  arranges  for  and  tends  towards  cer- 
tain results;  in  the  other  case,  we  ignore  the  factor  of 
tendency  toward  results. 

Kant's  Interpretation  of  Goodness  of  Will  is  Formal. 
— Kant's  further  treatment  leaves  us  in  no  doubt  in  which 
of  these  two  senses  he  uses  the  term  Good  Will.  He  goes 
on  (Ibid.,  p.  10)  : 

*'A  Good  Will  is  good,  not  because  of  what  it  performs  or 
effects,  not  hy  its  aptness  for  the  attainment  of  some  pro- 
posed end,  but  simply  by  virtue  of  the  volition;  that  is,  it  is 
good  in  itself.  .  .  .  Even  if  it  should  happen  that,  owing  to 
the  special  disfavor  of  fortune,  or  the  niggardly  provision  of 


THE  GOOD  WILL  OF  KANT 

a  stepmotherly  nature,  this  will  should  wholly  lack  power 
to  accomplish  its  purpose,  if  with  its  greatest  efforts  it  should 
yet  achieve  nothing,  and  there  should  remain  only  the  Good 
Will  (not,  to  be  sure,  a  mere  wish,  but  the  assuming  of  all 
means  in  our  power),  then,  like  a  jewel,  it  would  still  shine 
by  its  own  light  as  a  thing  which  has  its  whole  value  in 
itself.  Its  fruitfulness  or  fruitlessness  can  neither  add  nor 
take  away  anything  from  this  value." 

And  again  he  says: 

**An  action  .  .  .  derives  its  moral  worth  not  from  tne  pur- 
pose which  is  to  be  attained  by  it,  but  from  the  maxim  by 
which  it  is  determined  and  therefore  depends  .  .  .  merely  on 
the  principle  of  volition  by  which  the  action  has  taken  place, 
without  regard  to  any  object  of  desire.  .  .  ,  The  purposes 
which  we  may  have  in  view  in  our  actions  or  their  effect 
regarded  as  ends  and  springs  of  will  cannot  give  the  actions 
an  unconditional  or  moral  worth.  ...  It  cannot  lie  any- 
where but  in  the  principle  of  the  Will,  without  regard  to  the 
ends  which  can  be  attained  by  the  action"  {Ibid.,  p.  16). 

Relation  of  Endeavor  and  Achievement  to  Will. — 
Here,  also,  we  find  a  certain  agreement  with  our  every-day 
moral  experience.  It  is  undoubtedly  true  that  in  many 
cases  we  ascribe  moral  worth  or  goodness  to  acts  without 
reference  to  the  results  actually  attained  by  them ;  a  man 
who  tries  to  rescue  a  drowning  child  is  not  judged  only 
on  the  basis  of  success.  If  he  is  prevented,  because  he 
is  crippled,  or  because  the  current  is  too  rapid  for  him, 
we  do  not  refuse  hearty  moral  approbation.  We  do  not 
judge  the  goodness  of  the  act  or  of  the  agent  from  the 
standpoint  of  its  attained  result,  which  here  is  failure. 
We  regard  the  man  as  good  because  he  proposed  to  him- 
self a  worthy  end  or  aim,  the  rescue  of  another,  even 
at  the  risk  of  harm  to  himself.  We  should  agree  with 
Kant  in  saying  that  the  moral  worth  does  not  depend 
on  the  realization  of  the  object  of  desire.  But  we  should 
regard  the  worth  of  the  man  to  consist  precisely  in  the 
fact  that,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  he  aimed  at  a  good 
result.    We  do  not  rule  out  purpose,  but  we  approve  because 


244      CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 

the  purpose  was  good.  By  will  we  mean  tendencies, 
desires,  and  habits  operating  to  realize  results  regarded 
as  desirable.  Will  is  not  the  sole  condition  of  reaching 
a  result — that  is,  of  making  the  aim  an  actual  fact.  Cir- 
cumstances need  to  cooperate  to  insure  a  successful  issue; 
and  if  these  fail,  the  best  will  in  the  world  cannot  secure 
the  transformation  of  desire  for  an  end  into  that  end. 
We  know  that  sometimes  it  is  only  by  accident  that  the 
desirable  end  is  not  effected,  but  we  also  know  that  without 
the  proper  disposition  it  is  only  by  accident  that  the 
results  are  achieved.  Moreover,  we  know  that  our  own 
attitude  is  not  only  an  important  condition  of  securing 
the  results,  but  that  it  is  the  only  condition  constantly 
under  our  control.  What  we  mean  by  calling  it  "ours" 
is  precisely  that  it  is  that  condition  whose  operation  lies 
with  us.  Accordingly,  it  is  the  key  and  clue  to  the  results, 
so  far  as  they  concern  us.  So  far,  given  desire  and  en- 
deavor, achievment  is  not  necessary  to  volition. 

"Meaning  Well." — On  the  other  hand,  can  a  man  jus- 
tify himself  on  the  ground  that  he  "means  well,"  if  the 
"meaning  well"  does  not  regulate  the  overt  acts  that  he 
performs,  and  hence  the  consequences  that  proceed  from 
them?  Are  we  not  justified  in  suspecting  a  person's  good 
faith  when  his  good  intentions  uniformly  bring  suffering 
to  others.'^  If  we  do  not  question  his  good  faith,  do  we 
not  regard  him  as  needing  moral  enhghtenment,  and  a 
change  of  disposition?  We  distinguish  in  our  judgments 
of  good  between  the  fanatic  and  the  thoroughly  selfish 
man,  but  we  do  not  carry  this  distinction  to  the  point 
of  approving  the  fanatic;  of  saying,  "Let  him  alone;  he 
means  well,  he  has  a  good  will,  he  is  actuated  by  a  sense 
of  duty."  On  the  contrary,  we  condemn  his  aims ;  and  in 
so  far  we  censure  him  for  willingly  entertaining  and  ap- 
proving them.  We  may,  indeed,  approve  of  his  character 
with  respect  to  its  sincerity,  singleness  of  aim,  and  its  thor- 
oughness of  effort,  for  such  things,  taken  by  themselves,  or 


THE  GOOD  WILL  OF  KANT  245 

in  the  abstract,  are  good  traits  of  character.  We  esteem 
them  highly,  however,  just  because  they  have  so  much 
to  do  with  results ;  they  are,  par  excellence,  executive 
traits.  But  we  do  not  approve  of  the  man's  whole  char- 
acter in  approving  these  traits.  There  is  something  the 
matter  with  the  man  in  whom  good  traits  are  put  to  a 
bad  use.  It  is  not  true  in  such  cases  that  we  approve 
the  agent  but  condemn  his  acts.  We  approve  certain 
phases  of  conduct,  and  in  so  far  regard  the  doer  as 
praiseworthy;  we  condemn  other  features  of  acts,  and  in 
so  far  disapprove  him.^ 

Overt  Action  Proves  Will. — Again,  under  what  cir- 
cumstances do  we  actually  "take  the  will  for  the  deed".'* 
When  do  we  assume  that  so  far  as  the  will  was  concerned 
it  did  aim  at  the  result  and  aimed  at  it  thoroughly,  with- 
out evasion  and  without  reservation?  Only  when  there 
is  some  action  which  testifies  to  the  real  presence  of  the 
motive  and  aim.^  The  man,  in  our  earlier  instance,  must 
have  made  some  effort  to  save  the  drowning  child  to  justify 
either  us  or  himself  in  believing  that  he  meant  to  do  it; 
that  he  had  the  right  intent.  The  individual  who  habitu- 
ally justifies  himself  (either  to  others  or  to  himself)  by 
insisting  upon  the  rightness  of  his  motives,  lays  himself 
open  to  a  charge  of  self-deception,  if  not  of  deliberate 
hypocrisy,  if  there  are  no  outward  evidences  of  eifort 
towards  the  realization  of  his  pretended  motive.  A 
habitually  careless  child,  when  blamed  for  some  disorder 
or  disturbance,  seeks  to  excuse  himself  by  saying  he 
^'didn't  mean  to":  i.e.,  he  had  no  intention  or  aim;  the 
results  did  not  flow  morally  from  him.  We  often  reply, 
in  effect,  "that  is  just  the  trouble;  you  didn't  mean  at 

^  When  Kant  says  that  the  coolness  of  a  villain  makes  him  "more 
dangerous  and  more  abominable,"  it  is  suggested  that  it  is  more  abom- 
inable because  it  is  more  dangerous — surely  a  statement  of  the  value 
of  will  in  terms  of  the  results  it  tends  to  effect. 

'  Kant's  distinction  between  a  mere  wish,  and  "assuming  all  the 
means  in  our  power,"  appears  to  recognize  this  fact,  but  he  does  not 
apply  the  fact  in  his  theory. 


246      CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 

all;  you  ought  to  have  meant  not  to  do  this."  In  other 
words,  if  you  had  thought  about  what  you  were  doing 
you  would  not  have  done  this  and  would  not  have  brought 
about  the  undesirable  results.  With  adults  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  culpable  carelessness  and  blameworthy  negli- 
gence. So  far  as  the  individual's  conscious  will  was 
concerned,  everything  he  deliberately  intended  may  have 
been  entirely  praiseworthy;  but  we  blame  him  because 
his  character  was  such  that  the  end  appropriate  to  the 
circumstances  did  not  occur  to  him.  We  do  not  dis- 
approve when  the  failure  to  think  of  the  right  purpose 
is  due  to  inexperience  or  to  lack  of  intellectual  develop- 
ment ;  but  we  do  blame  when  the  man  does  not  employ  his 
attained  experience  and  intellectual  capacity.  Given 
these  factors,  if  the  right  end  is  not  thought  of  or  is 
quickly  dismissed,  indisposition  is  the  only  remaining 
explanation.  These  two  facts,  that  we  require  effort  or  evi- 
dence of  sincerity  of  good  will  and  that  the  character  is 
disapproved  for  not  entertaining  certain  aims,  are  suffi- 
cient to  prove  that  we  do  not  identify  will  and  motive 
with  something  which  has  nothing  to  do  with  "aptness  for 
attaining  ends."  Will  or  character  means  intelligent 
forethought  of  ends  and  resolute  endeavor  to  achieve 
them.  It  cannot  be  conceived  apart  from  ends  purposed 
and  desired. 

§  2.    THE  "intention"  OF  THE  UTILITARIANS 

Emphasis  of  Utilitarians  upon  Ends — We  are  brought 
to  the  opposite  type  of  moral  theory,  the  utilitarian, 
which  finds  moral  quality  to  reside  in  consequences,  that 
is  to  say,  in  the  ends  achieved.  To  the  utilitarians,  motive 
means  simply  certain  states  of  consciousness  which  hap- 
pen to  be  uppermost  in  a  man's  mind  as  he  acts.  Not 
this  subjective  feeling  existing  only  in  the  inner  conscious- 
ness, but  the  external  outcome,  the  objective  change  which 


"INTENTION"  OF  THE  UTILITARIANS     ^47 

IS  made  in  the  common  world,  is  what  counts.  If  we  can 
get  the  act  done  which  produces  the  right  sort  of  changes, 
which  brings  the  right  kind  of  result  to  the  various  per- 
sons concerned,  it  is  irrelevant  and  misleading  to  bother 
with  the  private  emotional  state  of  the  doer's  mind. 
Murder  would  be  none  the  less  murder  even  if  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  killer  were  filled  with  the  most  maudlin 
sentiments  of  general  philanthropy ;  the  rescue  of  a 
drowning  man  would  be  none  the  less  approvable  even 
if  w^e  happened  to  know  that  the  consciousness  of  the 
rescuer  were  irritable  and  grumpy  while  he  was  perform- 
ing the  deed.  Acts,  not  feelings,  count,  and  acts  mean 
changes  actually  effected.^ 

Distinction  of  Intention  from  Motive. — The  utilitari- 
ans make  their  point  by  distinguishing  between  intention 
and  motive,  attributing  moral  value  exclusively  to  the 
former.  According  to  them,  intention  is  what  a  man 
means  to  do;  motive  is  the  personal  frame  of  mind  which 
indicates  whi^  he  means  to  do  it.  Intention  is  the  concrete 
aim,  or  purpose;  the  results  which  are  foreseen  and 
wanted.  Motive  is  the  state  of  mind  which  renders  these 
consequences,  rather  than  others,  interesting  and  attract- 
ive. The  following  quotations  are  typical.  Bentham 
says  concerning  motives : 

**If  they  are  good  or  bad,  it  is  only  on  account  of  their 
effects:  good,  on  account  of  their  tendency  to  produce  pleas- 
ure, or  avert  pain:  bad,  on  account  of  their  tendency  to  pro- 
duce pain,  or  avert  pleasure.  Now  the  case  is,  that  from  one 
and  the  same  motive,  and  from  every  kind  of  motive,  may 
proceed  actions  that  are  good,  others  that  are  bad,  and  others 
that  are  indifferent." 

Consequently"  the  question  of  motive  is  totally  irrelevant. 
He  goes  on  to  give  a  long  series  of  illustrations,  from 
which  we  select  one: 


*  But,  as  we  shall  see,  the  utilitarians  make  finally  a  distinction 
between  ends  achieved  and  ends  attempted. 


U6  CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 

all;  you  ought  to  have  meant  not  to  do  this."  In  other 
words,  if  you  had  thought  about  what  you  were  doing 
you  would  not  have  done  this  and  would  not  have  brought 
about  the  undesirable  results.  With  adults  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  culpable  carelessness  and  blameworthy  negli- 
gence. So  far  as  the  individual's  conscious  will  was 
concerned,  everything  he  deliberately  intended  may  have 
been  entirely  praiseworthy;  but  we  blame  him  because 
his  character  was  such  that  the  end  appropriate  to  the 
circumstances  did  not  occur  to  him.  We  do  not  dis- 
approve when  the  failure  to  think  of  the  right  purpose 
is  due  to  inexperience  or  to  lack  of  intellectual  develop- 
ment ;  but  we  do  blame  when  the  man  does  not  employ  his 
attained  experience  and  intellectual  capacity.  Given 
these  factors,  if  the  right  end  is  not  thought  of  or  is 
quickly  dismissed,  indisposition  is  the  only  remaining 
explanation.  These  two  facts,  that  we  require  effort  or  evi- 
dence of  sincerity  of  good  will  and  that  the  character  is 
disapproved  for  not  entertaining  certain  aims,  are  suffi- 
cient to  prove  that  we  do  not  identify  will  and  motive 
with  something  which  has  nothing  to  do  with  "aptness  for 
attaining  ends."  Will  or  character  means  intelligent 
forethought  of  ends  and  resolute  endeavor  to  achieve 
them.  It  cannot  be  conceived  apart  from  ends  purposed 
and  desired. 

§  2.    THE  "intention"  OF  THE  UTILITARIANS 

Emphasis  of  Utilitarians  upon  Ends — We  are  brought 
to  the  opposite  type  of  moral  theory,  the  utilitarian, 
which  finds  moral  quality  to  reside  in  consequences,  that 
is  to  say,  in  the  ends  achieved.  To  the  utilitarians,  motive 
means  simply  certain  states  of  consciousness  which  hap- 
pen to  be  uppermost  in  a  man's  mind  as  he  acts.  Not 
this  subjective  feeling  existing  only  in  the  inner  conscious- 
ness, but  the  external  outcome,  the  objective  change  which 


"INTENTION"  OF  THE  UTILITARIANS     S47 

is  made  in  the  common  world,  is  what  counts.  If  we  can 
get  the  act  done  which  produces  the  right  sort  of  changes, 
which  brings  the  right  kind  of  result  to  the  various  per- 
sons concerned,  it  is  irrelevant  and  misleading  to  bother 
with  the  private  emotional  state  of  the  doer's  mind. 
Murder  would  be  none  the  less  murder  even  if  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  killer  were  filled  with  the  most  maudlin 
sentiments  of  general  philanthropy ;  the  rescue  of  a 
drowning  man  would  be  none  the  less  approvable  even 
if  we  happened  to  know  that  the  consciousness  of  the 
rescuer  were  irritable  and  grumpy  while  he  was  perform- 
ing the  deed.  Acts,  not  feelings,  count,  and  acts  mean 
changes  actually  effected.^ 

Distinction  of  Intention  from  Motive. — The  utilitari- 
ans make  their  point  by  distinguishing  between  intention 
and  motive,  attributing  moral  value  exclusively  to  the 
former.  According  to  them,  intention  is  what  a  man 
means  to  do;  motive  is  the  personal  frame  of  mind  which 
indicates  why  he  means  to  do  it.  Intention  is  the  concrete 
aim,  or  purpose;  the  results  which  are  foreseen  and 
wanted.  Motive  is  the  state  of  mind  which  renders  these 
consequences,  rather  than  others,  interesting  and  attract- 
ive. The  following  quotations  are  typical.  Bentham 
says  concerning  motives : 

*'If  they  are  good  or  bad,  it  is  only  on  account  of  their 
effects:  good,  on  account  of  their  tendency  to  produce  pleas- 
ure, or  avert  pain:  bad,  on  account  of  their  tendency  to  pro- 
duce pain,  or  avert  pleasure.  Now  the  case  is,  that  from  one 
and  the  same  motive,  and  from  every  kind  of  motive,  may 
proceed  actions  that  are  good,  others  that  are  bad,  and  others 
that  are  indifferent." 

Consequently"  the  question  of  motive  is  totally  irrelevant. 
He  goes  on  to  give  a  long  series  of  illustrations,  from 
which  we  select  one: 


*  But,  as  we  shall  see,  the  utilitarians  make  finally  a  distinction 
between  ends  achieved  and  ends  attempted. 


248  CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 

"1.  A  boy,  in  order  to  divert  himself,  reads  an  inspiring  book; 
the  motive  is  accounted,  perhaps,  a  good  one:  at  any  rate,  not 
a  bad  one.  2.  He  sets  his  top  a-spinning:  the  motive  is 
deemed  at  any  rate  not  a  bad  one.  3.  He  sets  loose  a  mad  ox 
among  a  crowd;  his  motive  is  now,  perhaps,  termed  an 
abominable  one.  Yet  in  all  three  cases  the  motive  may  be  the 
very  same:  it  may  be  neither  more  nor  less  than  curiosity."  ^ 
Mill  writes  to  the  following  effect:  "The  morality  of  the  ac- 
tion depends  entirely  upon  the  intention — ^that  is,  upon  what 
the  agent  wills  to  do.  But  the  motive,  that  is,  the  feeling 
which  made  him  will  so  to  do,  when  it  makes  no  difference  in 
the  act,  makes  none  in  the  morality."  ^ 

Now  if  motives  were  merely  inert  feelings  or  bare  states 
of  consciousness  happening  to  fill  a  person's  mind  apart 
from  his  desires  and  his  ideas,  they  certainly  would  not 
modify  his  acts,  and  we  should  be  compelled  to  admit  the 
correctness  of  this  position.  But  Mill  gives  the  whole 
case  away  when  he  says  that  the  motive  which  makes  a 
man  will  something,  ^^when  it  makes  no  difference  in  the 
act,'*  makes  none  in  its  morality.  Every  motive  does 
make  a  diff*erence  in  the  act;  it  makes  precisely  the  dif- 
ference between  one  act  and  another.  It  is  a  contra- 
diction in  terms  to  speak  of  the  motive  as  that  which 
makes  a  man  will  to  do  an  act  or  intend  to  effect  certain 
consequences,  and  then  speak  of  the  motive  making  no 
diff^erence  to  the  act!  How  can  that  which  makes  an 
intention  make  no  difference  to  it,  and  to  the  act  which 
proceeds   from   it.'' 

Concrete  Identity  of  Motive  and  Intention Ordinary 

speech  uses  motive  and  intention  interchangeably.  It 
says,  indiff*erently,  that  a  man's  motive  in  writing  a  let- 
ter was  to  warn  the  person  addressed  or  was  friendli- 
ness. According  to  Bentham  and  Mill,  only  so-called 
states  of  consciousness  in  which  one  feels  friendly  can 
be   called  motive;  the  object   aimed  at,  the  warning  of 

^  Bentham,  Principles  of  Morals  and  Legislation^  ch.  x.,  §  3. 
'  Mill?   Utilitarianism, 


"INTENTION"  OF  THE  UTILITARIANS     Md 

the  person,  is  intention,  not  motive.  Again  ordinary 
speech  says  either  that  a  doctor's  intention  was  to  relieve 
his  patient,  or  that  it  was  kind  and  proper,  although  the 
act  turned  out  badly.  But  the  utilitarians  would  insist 
that  only  the  first  usage  is  correct,  the  latter  confound- 
ing intent  with  motive.  In  general,  such  large  terms  as 
ambition,  revenge,  benevolence,  patriotism,  justice,  ava- 
rice, are  used  to  signify  both  motives  and  aims ;  both 
dispositions  from  which  one  acts  and  results  for  which 
one  acts.  It  is  the  gist  of  the  following  discussion  that 
common  speech  is  essentially  correct  in  this  interchange- 
able use  of  intention  and  motive.  The  same  set  of  real 
facts,  the  entire  voluntary  act,  is  pointed  to  by  both 
terms. 

Ambiguity  in  Term  "Feelings." — There  is  a  certain 
ambiguity  in  the  term  "feelings"  as  employed  by  Mill 
and  Bentham.  It  may  mean  feelings  apart  from  ideas, 
blind  and  vague  mental  states  unenlightened  by  thought, 
propelling  and  impelling  tendencies  undirected  by  either 
memory  or  anticipation.  Feelings  then  mean  sheer  in- 
stincts or  impulses.  In  this  sense,  they  are,  as  Bentham 
claims,  without  moral  quality.  But  also  in  this  sense 
there  are  no  intentions  with  which  motives  may  be  con- 
trasted. So  far  as  an  infant  or  an  insane  person  is  im- 
pelled by  some  blind  impulsive  tendency,  he  foresees  noth- 
ing, has  no  object  in  view,  means  nothing,  in  his  act;  he 
acts  without  premeditation  and  intention.  "Curiosity"  of 
this  sort  may  be  the  source  of  acts  which  are  harmful  or 
useful  or  indifferent.  But  no  consequences  were  intelli- 
gently foreseen  or  deliberately  wished  for,  and  hence  the 
acts  in  question  lie  wholly  outside  the  scope  of  morals,  even 
according  to  the  utilitarian  point  of  view.  Morality  is  a 
matter  of  intent,  and  intent  there  was  none. 

Motive  as  Intelligent. — In  some  cases,  then,  motives  have 
no  moral  quality  whatsoever,  and,  in  these  cases,  it  is  true 
that  intention  has  no  moral  quality  either,  because  there 


250  CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 

is  none.  Intention  and  motive  are  morally  on  the  same 
level,  not  opposed  to  one  another.  But  motive  means  not 
only  blind  feehng,  that  is,  impulse  without  thought;  it 
also  means  a  tendency  which  is  aware  of  its  own  probable 
outcome  when  carried  into  effect,  and  which  is  interested  in 
the  resulting  effect.  It  is  perhaps  conceivable  that  a 
child  should  let  loose  a  bull  in  a  crowd  from  sheer  inno- 
cent curiosity  to  see  what  would  happen — ^just  as  he  might 
pour  acid  on  a  stone.  But  if  he  were  a  normal  child,  the 
next  time  the  impulse  presented  itself  he  would  recall 
the  previous  result:  the  fright,  the  damage,  the  injury  to 
life  and  limb,  and  would  foresee  that  similar  consequences 
are  likely  to  happen  if  he  again  performs  a  like  act.  He 
now  has  what  Bentham  and  Mill  call  an  intention.  Sup- 
pose he  again  lets  loose  the  bull.  Only  verbally  is  motive 
now  the  same  that  it  was  before.  In  fact,  curiosity  is  a 
very  different  thing.  If  the  child  is  still  immature  and  inex- 
perienced and  unimaginative,  we  might  content  ourselves 
with  saying  that  his  motive  is  egoistic  amusement ;  but 
we  may  also  say  it  is  downright  malevolence  characteris- 
tic of  a  criminal.  In  no  case  should  we  call  it  curiosity. 
When  foresight  enters,  intent,  purpose  enters  also,  and 
with  it  a  change  of  motive  from  innocent,  because  blind, 
impulse,  to  deliberate,  and  hence  to  virtuous  or  blameworthy 
interest  in  effecting  a  certain  result.  Intention  and  mo- 
tive are  upon  the  same  moral  level.  Intention  is  the 
outcome  foreseen  and  wanted;  motive,  this  outcome  as 
foreseen  and  wanted.  But  the  voluntary  act,  as  such, 
is  an  outcomey  forethought  and  desired,  and  hence 
attempted. 

This  discussion  brings  out  the  positive  truth  for  which 
Bentham  and  Mill  stand:  viz.,  that  the  moral  quality  of 
any  impulse  or  active  tendency  can  he  told  only  hy  oh- 
serving  the  sort  of  consequences  to  which  it  leads  vn  actual 
practice.  As  against  those  who  insist  that  there  are  cer- 
tain feelings  in  human  nature  so  sacred  that  they  do  not 


"INTENTION"  OF  THE  UTILITARIANS     251 

need  to  be  measured  or  tested  by  noting  the  consequences 
which  flow  from  them,  so  sacred  that  they  justify  an  act 
no  matter  what  its  results,  the  utiHtarians  are  right. 
It  is  true,  as  Bentham  says,  that  if  motives  are  good  or 
bad  it  is  on  account  of  their  effects.  Hence  we  must  be 
constantly  considering  the  effects  of  our  various  half- 
impulsive,  half -blind,  half-conscious,  half -unconscious  mo- 
tives, in  order  to  find  out  what  sort  of  things  they  are — 
whether  to  be  approved  and  encouraged,  or  disapproved 
and  checked. 

Practical  Importance  of  Defining  Springs  to  Action 
by  Results. — This  truth  is  of  practical  as  well  as  of 
theoretical  significance.  Many  have  been  taught  that 
certain  emotions  are  inherently  so  good  that  they  are 
absolutely  the  justification  of  certain  acts,  so  that  the 
individual  is  absolved  from  any  attention  whatsoever  to 
results.  Instance  "charity,"  or  "benevolence."  The  be- 
lief is  engrained  that  the  emotion  of  pity,  of  desire 
to  relieve  the  sufferings  of  others,  is  intrinsically  noble 
and  elevating.  Hence  it  has  required  much  discussion  and 
teaching  to  bring  home,  even  partially,  the  evils  of  indis- 
criminate giving.  The  fact  is  that  pity,  sympathy,  apart 
from  forecast  of  specific  results  to  be  reached  by  acting 
upon  it,  is  a  mere  psychological  reaction,  as  much  so  as  is 
shrinking  from  suffering,  or  as  is  a  tendency  to  run  away 
from  danger;  in  this  blind  form  it  is  devoid  of  any  moral 
quality  whatsoever.  Hence  to  teach  that  the  feeling 
is  good  in  itself  is  to  make  its  mere  discharge  an  end  in 
itself.  This  is  to  overlook  the  evil  consequences  in  the 
way  of  fraud,  laziness,  inefficiency,  parasitism  produced  in 
others,  and  of  sentimentality,  pride,  self-complacency  pro- 
duced in  the  self.  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  effect 
of  some  types  of  moral  training  is  to  induce  the  belief 
that  an  individual  may  develop  goodness  of  character 
simply  by  cultivating  and  keeping  uppermost  in  his  con- 
sciousness certain  types   of  feelings,  irrespective  of  the 


S52      CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 

objective  results  of  the  acts  they  lead  to — one  of  the 
most  dangerous  forms  of  hypocrisy  and  of  weakened 
moral  fiber.  The  insistence  of  utilitarianism  that  we  must 
become  aware  of  the  moral  quality  of  our  impulses  and 
states  of  mind  on  the  basis  of  the  results  they  effect,  and 
must  control  them — no  matter  how  "good"  they  feel — by 
their  results,  is  a  fundamental  truth  of  morals. 

Existence  and  Influence  of  Idea  of  Consequences  De- 
pends upon  Disposition. — But  the  converse  is  equally 
true.  Behind  every  concrete  purpose  or  aim,  as  idea 
or  thought  of  results,  lies  something,  some  passion,  in- 
stinct, impulse,  habit,  interest,  which  gives  it  a  hold  on 
the  person,  which  gives  it  motor  and  impelling  force; 
and  which  confers  upon  it  the  capacity  to  operate  as 
motive,  as  spring  to  action.  Otherwise,  foreseen  conse- 
quences would  remain  mere  intellectual  entities  which 
thought  might  speculatively  contemplate  from  afar,  but 
which  would  never  possess  weight,  influence,  power  to  stir 
effort.  But  we  must  go  further.  Not  only  is  some  active 
tendency  in  the  constitution  of  the  man  responsible  for 
the  motive  power,  whether  attractive  or  otherwise,  which 
foreseen  consequences  possess,  but  it  is  responsible  for  the 
fact  that  this  rather  than  that  consequence  is  suggested. 
A  man  of  consistently  amiable  character  will  not  be 
likely  to  have  thoughts  of  cruelty  to  weigh  and  to  dis- 
miss i  a  man  of  greed  will  be  likely  to  have  thoughts  of 
personal  gain  and  acquisition  constantly  present  to  him. 
What  an  individual  is  interested  in  occurs  to  him ;  what  he 
is  indifferent  to  does  not  present  itself  in  imagination  or 
lightly  slips  away.  Active  tendencies,  personal  attitudes, 
are  thus  in  the  end  the  determining  causes  of  our  having 
certain  intentions  in  mind,  as  well  as  the  causes  of  their 
active  or  moving  influence.  As  Bentham  says,  motives 
make  intentions. 

Influence  of  Interest  on  Ideas. — "Purpose  is  but  the 
slave  of  memory."     We  can  anticipate  this  or  that  only 


"INTENTION"  OF  THE  UTILITARIANS     253 

as  from  past  experience  we  can  construct  it.  But  recall, 
re-membering  (rearticulation)  is  selective.  We  pick  out 
certain  past  results,  certain  formerly  experienced  results, 
and  we  ignore  others.  Why?  Because  of  our  present 
interests.  We  are  interested  in  this  or  that,  and  ac- 
cordingly it  comes  to  mind  and  dwells  there;  or  it  fails  to 
appear  in  recollection,  or  if  appearing,  is  quickly  dismissed. 
It  is  important  that  the  things  from  the  past,  which  are 
relevant  to  our  present  activity,  should  come  promptly  to 
mind  and  find  fertile  lodgment,  and  character  decides  how 
this  happens. 
Says  James :  ^ 

"What  constitutes  the  difficulty  for  a  man  laboring  under 
an  unwise  passion  acting  as  if  the  passion  were  unwise?  .  .  . 
The  difficulty  is  mental;  it  is  that  of  getting  the  idea  of  the 
wise  action  to  stay  before  our  mind  at  all.  When  any  strong 
emotional  state  whatever  is  upon  us  the  tendency  is  for  no 
images  but  such  as  are  congruous  with  it  to  come  up.  If 
others  by  chance  offer  themselves,  they  are  instantly  smoth- 
ered and  crowded  out.  .  .  .  By  a  sort  of  self-preserving  in- 
stinct which  our  passion  has,  it  feels  that  these  chill  objects 
[the  thoughts  of  what  is  disagreeable  to  the  passion]  if  they 
once  but  gain  a  lodgment,  will  work  and  work  until  they  have 
frozen  the  very  vital  spark  from  out  of  all  our  mood.  .  .  . 
Passion's  cue  accordingly  is  always  and  everywhere  to  prevent 
their  still  small  voice  from  being  heard  at  all." 

This  quotation  refers  to  a  strong  passion.  It  is  im- 
portant to  note  that  every  interest^  every  emotion,  of 
whatever  nature  or  strength,  works  in  precisely  the 
same  way.  Upon  this  hangs  the  entertaining  of  memories 
and  ideas   about  things.      Hence  interest   is   the   central 

*  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  562-563.  The  whole  passage,  pp.  561-569, 
should  be  thoroughly  familiar  to  every  ethical  student;  and  should 
be  compared  with  what  is  said  in  Vol.  I.,  pp.  284-290,  about  the 
selective  tendency  of  feelings;  and  Vol.  I.,  ch.  xi.,  upon  attention,  and 
Vol.  I.,  pp.  515-522,  upon  discrimination. 

Hoffding,  Psychology  (translated),  is  also  clear  and  explicit  with 
reference  to  the  influence  of  our  emotions  upon  our  ideas.  (See 
especially  pp.  298-307.)  The  development  of  this  fact  in  some  of 
its  aspects  is  one  of  the  chief  traits  of  the  Ethics  of  Spinoza. 


254      CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 

factor  in  the  development  of  any  concrete  intention,  both 
as  to  what  it  is  and  as  to  what  it  is  not — that  is,  what 
the  aim  would  have  been  if  the  emotional  attitude  had 
been  different.  Given  a  certain  emotional  attitude,  and 
the  consequences  which  are  pertinent  to  it  are  thought 
of,  while  other  and  equally  probable  consequences  are  ig- 
nored. A  man  of  a  truly  kindly  disposition  is  sensitive 
to,  aware  of,  probable  results  on  other  people's  welfare; 
a  cautious  person  sees  consequences  with  reference  to  his 
own  standing;  an  avaricious  man  feels  results  in  terms  of 
the  probable  increase  or  decrease  of  his  possessions ;  and 
so  on.  The  intimate  relation  of  interest  and  attention 
forms  the  inseparable  tie  of  intention,  what  one  will,  to 
motive,  why  he  so  wills.  When  Bentham  says  that  "Mo- 
tives are  the  causes  of  intentions,"  he  states  the  fact,  and 
also  reveals  motive  as  the  proper  final  object  of  moral 
judgment. 

§  3.    CONDUCT    AND    CHARACTER 

The  discussion  enables  us  to  place  conduct  and  charac- 
ter in  relation  to  each  other.  Mill,  after  the  passage 
already  quoted  (see  above,  p.  248),  to  the  effect  that  mo- 
tive makes  no  difference  to  the  morality  of  the  act,  says 
it  "makes  a  great  difference  in  our  moral  estimation  of 
the  agent,  especially  if  it  indicates  a  good  or  a  bad 
habitual  disposition — a  bent  of  character  from  which 
useful,  or  from  which  hurtful,  actions  are  likely  to  arise." 
To  like  effect  Bentham: 

"Is  there  nothing,  then/*  he  asks/  "about  a  man  which  can 
be  termed  good  or  bad,  when  on  such  or  such  an  occasion, 
he  suffers  himself  to  be  governed  by  such  and  such  a  mo- 
tive? Yes,  certainly,  his  disposition.  Now  disposition  is  a 
kind  of  fictitious  entity,^  feigned  for  the  convenience  of  dis- 

*  Principles  of  Morals  and  Legislation,  ch.  ii.,  §  1. 

'  Bentham  does  not  mean  "unreal"  by  a  fictitious  entity.  Accord- 
ing to  his  logic,  all  general  and  abstract  terms,  all  words  designating 
relations  rather  than  elements,  are  "fictitious  entities." 


^CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER  255 

course,  in  order  to  express  what  there  is  supposed  to  be 
permanent  in  a  man's  frame  of  mind,  where,  on  such  or  such 
an  occasion,  he  has  been  influenced  by  such  or  such  a  motive, 
to  engage  in  an  act,  which,  as  it  appeared  to  him,  was  of 
such  or  such  a  tendency."  He  then  goes  on  to  say  that  dis- 
position is  good  or  bad  according  to  its  effects.  "A  man  is 
said  to  be  of  a  mischievous  ^  disposition,  when  by  the  influence 
of  no  matter  what  motives,  he  is  presumed  to  be  more  apt 
to  engage,  or  form  intentions  of  engaging,  in  acts  apparently 
of  a  beneficial  tendency:  of  a  meritorious  or  beneficent  dis- 
position in  the  opposite  case."  ^  And  again:  "It  is  evident 
that  the  nature  of  a  man's  disposition  must  depend  upon  the 
nature  of  the  motives  he  is  apt  to  be  influenced  by;  in  other 
words,  upon  the  degree  of  his  sensibility  to  the  force  of 
such  and  such  motives.  For  his  disposition  is,  as  it  were,  the 
sum  of  his  intentions.  .  .  .  Now,  intentions,  like  everything 
else,  are  produced  by  the  things  that  are  their  causes:  and 
the  causes  of  intentions  are  motives.  If,  on  any  occasion,  a 
man  forms  either  a  good  or  a  bad  intention,  it  must  be  by 
the  influence  of  some  motive."  ^ 

Role  of  Character. — Here  we  have  an  explicit  recogni- 
tion of  the  fundamental  role  of  character  in  the  moral  life ; 
and  also  of  why  it  is  important.  Character  is  that  body 
of  active  tendencies  and  interests  in  the  individual  which 
make  him  open,  ready,  warm  to  certain  aims,  and  callous, 
cold,  blind  to  others,  and  which  accordingly  habitually 
tend  to  make  him  acutely  aware  of  and  favorable  to  cer- 
tain sorts  of  consequences,  and  ignorant  of  or  hostile  to 
other  consequences.  A  selfish  man  need  not  consciously 
think  a  great  deal  of  himself,  nor  need  he  be  one  who, 
after  deliberately  weighing  his  own  claims  and  others' 
claims,  consciously  and  persistently  chooses  the  former. 
The  number  of  persons  who  after  facing  the  entire  situa- 
tion, would  still  be  anti-social  enough  deliberately  to  sac- 
rifice the  welfare  of  others  is  probably  small.     But  a  man 

^  By  mischievous  he  means   pernicious,   bad,  vicious,   or   even  de- 
praved in  extreme  cases. 
*  Ihid.,  ch.  xi.,  §  3. 
» Ibid.,  §§17  and  18. 


256      CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 

will  have  a  selfish  and  egoistic  character  who,  irrespective 
of  any  such  conscious  balancing  of  his  own  and  others'  wel- 
fare, is  habitually  more  accessible  to  the  thought  of  those 
consequences  which  affect  himself  than  he  is  to  those  which 
bear  upon  others.  It  is  not  so  much  that  after  thinking  of 
the  effect  upon  others  he  declines  to  give  these  thoughts  any 
weight,  as  that  he  habitually  fails  to  think  at  all,  or  to 
think  in  a  vivid  and  complete  way,  of  the  interests  of 
others.  As  we  say,  he  does  not  care ;  he  does  not  consider, 
or  regard,  others.^ 

Partial  and  Complete  Intent. — To  Mill's  statement  that 
morality  depends  on  motive  not  upon  intention,  a  critic 
objected  that  on  this  basis  a  tyrant's  act  in  saving  a  man 
from  drowning  would  be  good — the  intent  being  rescue  of 
life — although  his  motive  was  abominable,  namely  cruelty, 
for  it  was  the  reservation  of  the  man  for  death  by  torture. 
Mill's  reply  is  significant.  Not  so,  he  answered;  there 
is  in  this  case  a  difference  of  intention,  not  merely  of  mo- 
tive. The  rescue  was  not  the  whole  act,  but  "only  the 
necessary  first  step  of  an  act."  This  answer  will  be  found 
to  apply  to  every  act  in  which  a  superficial  analysis  would 
seem  to  make  intent  different  in  its  moral  significance  from 
motive.  Take  into  account  the  remote  consequences  in 
view  as  well  as  the  near,  and  the  seeming  discrepancy  dis- 
appears. The  intent  of  rescuing  a  man  and  the  motive  of 
cruelty  are  both  descriptions  of  the  same  act,  the  same 
moral  reality;  the  difference  lying  not  in  the  fact,  but  in 
the  point  of  view  from  which  it  is  named.  Now  there  is 
in  every  one  a  tendency  to  fix  in  his  mind  only  a  part  of 
the  probable  consequences  of  his  deed;  the  part  which  is 
most  innocent,  upon  which  a  favorable  construction  may 

*  The  fact  that  common  moral  experience,  as  embodied  in  common 
speech,  uses  such  terms  as  "think  of,"  "consider,"  "regard,"  "pay- 
attention  to"  (in  such  expressions  as  he  is  thoughtful  of,  considerate 
of,  regardful  of,  mindful  of,  attentive  to,  the  interests  of  others) 
in  a  way  implying  both  the  action  of  intelligence  and  of  the  affec- 
tions, is  the  exact  counterpart  of  the  interchangeable  use,  already 
mentioned,  of  the  terms  intention  and  motive. 


CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER      257 

most  easily  be  put,  or  which  is  temporarily  most  agreeable 
to  contemplate.  Thus  the  person  concentrates  his  thought, 
his  forecast  of  consequences  upon  external  and  indifferent 
matters,  upon  distribution  of  commodities,  increase  of 
money  or  material  resources,  and  upon  positively  valuable 
results,  at  the  expense  of  other  changes — changes  for  the 
worse  in  his  disposition  and  in  the  well-being  and  freedom 
of  others.  Thus  he  causes  to  stand  out  in  strong  light 
all  of  those  consequences  of  his  activity  which  are  bene- 
ficial and  right,  and  dismisses  those  of  another  nature 
to  the  dim  recesses  of  consciousness,  so  they  will  not 
trouble  him  with  scruples  about  the  proper  character  of 
his  act.  Since  consequences  are  usually  more  or  less 
mixed,  such  half-conscious,  half-unconscious,  half-volun- 
tary, half-instinctive  selection  easily  becomes  a  habit. 
Then  the  individual  excuses  himself  with  reference  to  the 
actual  bad  results  of  his  behavior  on  the  ground  that 
he  "meant  well,"  his  "intention  was  good" !  Common 
sense  disposes  of  this  evasion  by  recognizing  the 
reality  of  "willing."  We  say  a  man  is  "willing"  to 
have  things  happen  when,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
in  and  of  themselves  they  are  objectionable  and  hence 
would  not  be  willed  in  their  isolation,  they  are  consented  to, 
because  they  are  bound  up  with  something  else  the  person 
wants.  And  to  be  "willing"  to  have  the  harm  follow  is 
really  to  will  it.  The  agent  intends  or  wills  all  those  conse- 
quences which  his  prevailing  motive  or  character  makes 
him  willing  under  the  circumstances  to  accept  or  tolerate. 
Exactly  the  same  point  comes  out  from  the  side  of 
motive.  Motives  are  complex  and  "mixed";  ultimately 
the  motive  to  an  act  is  that  entire  character  of  an 
agent  on  account  of  which  one  alternative  set  of  possible 
results  appeal  to  him  and  stir  him.  Such  motives  as  pure 
benevolence,  avarice,  gratitude,  revenge,  are  abstractions ; 
we  name  the  motive  from  the  general  trend  of  the  issue^ 
ignoring  contributing  and  indirect  causes.     All  assigned 


258      CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 

motives  are  more  or  less  post-mortem  affairs.  No  actuating 
motive  is  ever  as  simple  as  reflection  afterwards  makes 
it.  But  the  justification  of  the  simplification  is  that  it 
brings  to  light  some  factor  which  needs  further  attention. 
No  one  can  read  his  own  motives,  much  less  those  of 
another,  with  perfect  accuracy ; — though  the  more  sincere 
and  transparent  the  character  the  more  feasible  is  the 
reading.  Motives  which  are  active  in  the  depths  of 
character  present  themselves  only  obscurely  and  sub- 
consciously. Now  if  one  has  been  trained  to  think  that 
motive  apart  from  intention,  apart  from  view  of  conse- 
quences flowing  from  an  act,  is  the  source  and  justification 
of  its  morality,  a  false  and  perverse  turn  is  almost  sure  to 
be  given  to  his  judgment.  Such  a  person  fosters  and 
keeps  uppermost  in  the  focus  of  his  perceptions  certain 
states  of  feeling,  certain  emotions  which  he  has  been 
taught  are  good ;  and  then  excuses  his  act,  in  face  of  bad 
consequences,  on  the  ground  that  it  sprang  from  a  good 
motive.  Selfish  persons  are  always  being  "misunderstood." 
Thus  a  man  of  naturally  buoyant  and  amiable  disposition 
may  unconsciously  learn  to  cultivate  superficially  certain 
emotions  of  "good- feeling"  to  others,  and  yet  act  in  ways 
which,  judged  by  consequences  that  the  man  might  have 
foreseen  if  he  had  chosen  to,  are  utterly  hostile  to  the 
interests  of  others.  Such  a  man  may  feel  indignant  when 
accused  of  unjust  or  ungenerous  behavior,  and  calKng 
others  to  account  for  uncharitableness,  bear  witness  in  his 
own  behalf  that  he  never  entertained  any  "feelings"  of 
unkindness,  or  any  "feelings"  except  those  of  benevolence, 
towards  the  individual  in  question.^  Only  the  habit  of 
reading  "motives"  in  the  light  of  persistent,  thorough,  and 
minute  attention  to  the  consequences  which  flow  from  them 
can  save  a  man  from  such  moral  error. 

^  In  short,  the  way  an  individual  favors  himself  in  reading  his  own 
motives  is  as  much  an  evidence  of  his  egoism  as  the  way  he  favors 
himself  in  outward  action.  Criminals  can  almost  always  assign 
"good"  motives. 


MORALITY  OF  ACTS  AND  OF  AGENTS   259 


§4. 


MORALITY   OF    ACTS    AND    OF    AGENTS 


Subjective  and  Objective  Morality. — Finally  we  may 
discuss  the  point  at  issue  with  reference  to  the  supposed 
distinction  between  subjective  and  objective  moraHty — 
an  agent  may  be  good  and  his  act  bad  or  vice-versa.  Both 
of  the  schools  which  place  moral  quality  either  in  atti- 
tude or  in  content,  in  motive  or  intent  independently  of 
each  other,  agree  in  making  a  distinction  between  the  mo- 
rality of  an  act  and  the  morality  of  the  agent — ^between 
objective  and  subjective  morality.^  Thus,  as  we  have  seen, 
Mill  says  the  motive  makes  a  difference  in  our  moral  esti- 
mate of  its  doer,  even  when  it  makes  none  in  our  judgment 
of  his  action.  It  is  a  common  idea  that  certain  acts  are 
right  no  matter  what  the  motive  of  the  doer,  even  when 
done  by  one  with  a  bad  disposition  in  doing  them.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  that  there  is  a  serious  difficulty  in  the  facts 
themselves.  Men  actuated  by  a  harsh  and  narrow  desire 
for  industrial  power  or  for  wealth  produce  social  benefits, 
stimulate  invention  and  progress,  and  raise  the  level  of 
social  life.  Napoleon  was  doubtless  moved  by  vanity  and 
vainglory  to  an  extent  involving  immense  disregard  of 
others'  rights.  And  yet  in  jurisprudence,  civil  arrange- 
ments, and  education  he  rendered  immense  social  service. 
Again,  the  "conscientious  man"  is  often  guilty  of  bringing 
great  evils  upon  society.  His  very  conviction  of  his  own 
rightness  may  only  add  to  the  intense  vigor  which  he  puts 
into  his  pernicious  acts.     Surely,  we  cannot  approve  the 


1   Ml 


'Formally"  and  "materially"  good  or  bad  are  terms  also  em- 
ployed to  denote  the  same  distinction.  (See  Sidgwick,  History  of 
Ethics,  pp.  199-200;  so  Bowne,  Principles  of  Ethics,  pp.  39-40.) 
"The  familiar  distinction  between  the  formal  and  the  material  Tight- 
ness of  action:  The  former  depends  upon  the  attitude  of  the  agent's 
will  towards  his  ideal  of  right;  the  latter  depends  upon  the  harmony 
of  the  act  with  the  laws  of  reality  and  its  resulting  tendency  to 
produce  and  promote  well-being."  Bowne  holds  that  both  are  neces- 
sary, while  formal  rightness  is  ethically  more  important,  though  not 
all  important. 


260      CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 

conduct,  although  we  are  not  entitled  morally  to  condemn 
the  conscientious  doer,  who  does  "the  best  he  knows" — or 
believes. 

Moral  Quality  of  Doer  and  Deed  Proportionate. — 
If  we  rule  out  irrelevant  considerations,  we  find  that 
we  never,  without  qualification,  invert  our  moral  judg- 
ments of  doer  and  deed.  So  far  as  we  regard  Napoleon's 
actions  as  morally  good  (not  merely  as  happening  to  ef- 
fect certain  desirable  results)  we  give  Napoleon  credit 
for  interest  in  bringing  about  those  results,  and  in  so  far 
forth,  call  him  good.  Character,  like  conduct,  is  a  highly 
complex  thing.  No  human  being  is  all  good  or  all  bad. 
Even  if  we  were  sure  that  Napoleon  was  an  evil-minded 
man,  our  judgment  is  of  him  as  evil  upon  the  whole.  Only 
if  we  suppose  him  to  be  bad  and  only  bad  all  the  time  is 
there  the  opposition  of  evil  character  and  good  actions. 
We  may  believe  that  even  in  what  Napoleon  did  in  the  way 
of  legal  and  civic  reform  he  was  actuated  by  mixed  mo- 
tives— ^by  vanity,  love  of  greater,  because  more  centralized, 
power,  etc.  But  these  interests  in  and  of  themselves  could 
not  have  effected  the  results  he  accomplished.  He  must  have 
had  some  insight  into  a  better  condition  of  affairs,  and 
this  insight  evidences  an  interest  in  so  far  good.  More- 
over, so  far  as  we  judge  Napoleon  bad  as  to  his  character 
and  motive  in  these  acts,  we  are  entitled  to  hold  that  the 
actions  and  also  the  outward  results  were  also  partially 
evil.  That  is,  while  to  some  extent,  socially  beneficial, 
they  would  have  been  still  more  so  if  Napoleon  had  been 
actuated  by  less  self-centred  considerations.  If  his  char- 
acter had  been  simpler,  more  sincere,  more  straightfor- 
ward, then  certain  evil  results,  certain  offsets  to  the  good 
he  accomplished,  would  not  have  occurred.  The  mixture 
of  good  and  evil  in  the  results  and  the  mixture  of  good 
and  evil  in  the  motives  are  proportionate  to  each  other. 
3uch  is  the  conclusion  when  we  recognize  the  complexities 


MORALITY  OF  ACTS  AND  OF  AGENTS    261 

of  character  and  conduct,  and  do  not  allow  ourselves  to 
be  imposed  upon  by  a  fictitious  simplicity  of  analysis. 

Summary. — The  first  quality  which  is  the  object  of 
judgment  primarily  resides  then  in  intention ;  in  the  conse- 
quences which  are  foreseen  and  desired.  Ultimately  it  re- 
sides in  that  disposition  or  characteristics  of  a  person 
which  are  responsible  for  his  foreseeing  and  desiring  just 
such  consequences  rather  than  others.  The  ground  for 
judging  an  act  on  the  basis  of  consequences  not  foreseen 
is  that  the  powers  of  a  man  are  not  fixed,  but  capable  of 
modification  and  redirection.  It  is  only  through  taking 
into  account  in  subsequent  acts  consequences  of  prior  acts 
not  intended  in  those  prior  acts  that  the  agent  learns  the 
fuller  significance  of  his  own  power  and  thus  of  himself. 
Every  builder  builds  other  than  he  knows,  whether  better 
or  worse.  In  no  case,  can  he  foresee  all  the  consequences 
of  his  acts. 

In  subsequent  experience  these  results,  mere  by-products 
of  the  original  volition,  enter  in.  "Outer"  and  non- 
moral  for  the  original  act,  they  are  within  subsequent 
voluntary  activity,  because  they  influence  desire  and 
make  foresight  more  accurate  in  detail  and  more  ex- 
tensive in  range.  This  translation  of  consequences  once 
wholly  unforeseeable  into  consequences  which  have  to  be 
taken  in  account  is  at  its  maximum  in  the  change  of  im- 
pulsive into  intelligent  action.  But  there  is  no  act  so  intel- 
ligent that  its  actual  consequences  do  not  run  beyond  its 
foreseen  ones,  and  thus  necessitate  a  subsequent  revision  of 
intention.  Thus  the  distinction  of  "inner"  and  "outer"  is 
one  involved  in  the  growth  of  character  and  conduct.  Only 
if  character  were  not  in  process  of  change,  only  if  conduct 
were  a  fixed  because  isolated  thing,  should  we  have  that 
separation  of  the  inner  and  the  outer  which  underlies  alike 
the  Kantian  and  the  utilitarian  theories.  In  truth,  there 
is  no  separation,  but  only  a  contrast  of  the  different  levels 
of  desire  and  forethought  of  earlier  and  later  activities. 


262     CONDUCT  AND  CHARACTER 

The  great  need  of  the  moral  agent  is  thus  a  character 
which  will  make  him  as  open,  as  accessible  as  possible,  to  the 
recognition  of  the  consequences  of  his  behavior. 


LITERATURE 

On  Conduct  and  Character  in  general,  see  Paulsen,  System  of 
Ethics,  pp.  468-472;  Mackenzie,  Manual  of  Ethics,  Book  I.,  ch.  iii.; 
Spencer,  Principles  of  Ethics,  Part  I.,  chs.  i.-viii.;  Green,  Prolegomena 
to  Ethics,  pp.  110-117,  152-159;  Alexander,  Moral  Order  and  Progress, 
pp.  48-52;  Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  ch.  ii.;  Mezes,  Ethics,  ch.  iv.; 
Seth,  Ethical  Principles,  ch.  iii. 

Upon  Motive  and  Intention  consult  Bentham,  Principles  of 
Morals  and  Legislation,  chs.  viii.  and  x.;  James  Mill,  Analysis  of 
Human  Mind,  Vol.  II.,  chs.  xxii.  and  xxv.;  Austin,  Jurisprudence, 
Vol.  I.,  chs.  xviii.-xx.;  Green,  Prolegomena,  pp.  315-325;  Alexander, 
Moral  Order  and  Progress,  pp.  36-47;  Westermarck,  Origin  and 
Development  of  the  Moral  Ideas,  chs.  viii.,  xi.,  and  xiii.;  Ritchie, 
International  Journal  of  Ethics,  \o\.  IV.,  pp.  89-94,  and  229-238,  where 
farther  references  are  given. 

Upon  Formal  and  Material  (or  subjective  and  objective)  Right- 
NESS  see  Sidgwick,  History  of  Ethics,  p.  200;  Rickaby,  Moral  Phi- 
losophy, p.  3,  pp.  33-40;  Bowne,  Principles  of  Ethics,  pp.  39-40; 
Brown,  Philosophy  of  Mind,  Vol.  III.,  p.  489  and  pp.  499-500;  Paul- 
sen, System  of  Ethics,  pp.  227-233;  Green,  Prolegomena,  pp.  317-323; 
Sidgwick,  Methods  of  Ethics,  pp.  206-207. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HAPPINESS   AND   CONDUCT:   THE    GOOD   AND 

DESIRE 

We  have  reached  a  conclusion  as  to  our  first  inquiry 
(p.  201),  and  have  decided  that  the  appropriate  subject- 
matter  of  moral  judgment  is  the  disposition  of  the  person 
as  manifested  in  the  tendencies  which  cause  certain  con- 
sequences, rather  than  others,  to  be  considered  and  es- 
teemed— foreseen  and  desired.  Disposition,  motive,  intent 
are  then  judged  good  or  bad  according  to  the  consequences 
they  tend  to  produce.  But  what  are  the  consequences  by 
which  we  determine  anything  to  be  good  or  bad?  We  turn 
from  the  locus  or  residence  of  the  distinctions  of  good  and 
bad  to  the  nature  of  the  distinctions  themselves.  What 
do  good  and  bad  mean  as  terms  of  voluntary  behavior  ? 

Happiness  and  Misery  as  the  Good  and  Bad There  is 

one  answer  to  this  question  which  is  at  once  so  simple  and 
so  comprehensive  that  it  has  always  been  professed  by  some 
representative  ethical  theory:  the  good  is  happiness,  well- 
being,  pleasure ;  the  bad  is  misery,  woe,  pain.^  The  agree- 
ableness  or  disagreeableness  attending  consequences  differ- 
entiates them  into  good  and  bad;  and  it  is  because  some 
deeds  are  found  to  lead  to  pleasure,  while  others  lead  to 
pain,  that  they  are  adjudged  virtuous  or  vicious.  In  its 
modern  form,  this  theory  is  known  as  utilitarianism.  Ben- 
tham  has  given  it  a  sweeping  and  clear  formulation. 

*  Later  we  shall  see  reasons  for  discriminating  between  happiness 
and  pleasure.  But  here  we  accept  the  standpoint  pf  thosQ  whg 
identify  them. 


264  HAPPINESS  AND  CONDUCT 

"Nature  has  placed  mankind  under  the  governance  of  two 
sovereign  masters,  pain  and  pleasure.  It  is  for  them  alone 
to  point  out  what  we  ought  to  do  as  well  as  to  determine  what 
we  shall  do.  On  the  one  hand,  the  standard  of  right  and 
wrong,  on  the  other  chain  of  causes  and  effects,  are  fastened 
to   their  throne." 

"Strictly  speaking  nothing  can  be  said  to  be  good  or  bad 
but  either  in  itself,  which  is  the  case  only  with  pain  or  pleas- 
ure; or  on  account  of  its  effects,  which  is  the  case  only  with 
things  that  are  the  cause  or  preventive  of  pain  or  pleasure." 
Again:  "By  the  principle  of  utility  is  meant  that  principle 
which  approves  or  disapproves  of  every  action  whatever  ac- 
cording to  the  tendency  it  appears  to  have  to  augment  or 
diminish  the  happiness  of  the  party  whose  interests  are  in 
question."  ^  Once  more:  "The  greatest  happiness  of  all  those 
whose  interest  is  in  question  is  the  right  and  proper,  and  the 
only  right  and  proper  and  universally  desirable  end  of  human 
action."  "Only  on  the  basis  of  this  principle  do  the  words 
'right  and  wrong'  and  'ought'  have  an  intelligent  meaning  as 
applied  to  actions ;  otherwise  they  have  not." 

This  last  statement  need  not  mean,  however,  that  all  judg- 
ments of  right  and  wrong  are  as  matter  of  fact  derived 
from  a  consideration  of  the  results  of  action  in  the  way  of 
pain  and  pleasure,  but  that  upon  this  ground  alone  should 
our  judgments  be  formed,  since  upon  this  basis  alone  can 
they  be  justified.^ 

Axiomatic  Identification  of  Good  with  Happiness. — 
The  principle  that  happiness  is  the  ultimate  aim  of  human 
action  and  the  ultimate  standard  of  the  moral  value  of 
that  action  is  generally  regarded  by  the  utilitarians  as 
axiomatic  and  not  susceptible  of  proof.  As  Bentham  says, 
"that  which  is  used  to  prove  everything  else  cannot  itself 
be  proved.    A  chain  of  proofs  must  have  their  commence- 

*  The  context  shows  that  this  "party"  may  be  either  the  individual, 
or  a  limited  social  group  or  the  entire  community.  Even  the  pleas- 
ures and  pains  of  animals,  of  the  sentient  creation  generally,  may 
come  into  the  account. 

*  These  quotations  are  all  taken  from  Bentham's  Principles  of 
Morals  and  Legislation;  the  first,  third,  and  fourth  from  ch.  i.;  the 
second  from  ch.  xiii.;  and  the  last  from  ch.  ii. 


HAPPINESS  AND  CONDUCT  265 

ment  somewhere."  So  Bain  says  (Moral  Science,  p.  27), 
"Now  there  can  be  no  proof  offered  for  the  position  that 
happiness  is  the  proper  end  of  all  human  procedures,  the 
criterion  of  all  right  conduct.  It  is  an  ultimate  or  final 
assumption  to  be  tested  by  reference  to  the  individual  judg- 
ments of  mankind."  Thus  also  Mill  (Utilitarianism): 
"The  only  proof  capable  of  being  given  that  an  object 
is  visible  is  that  people  actually  see  it.  In  like  manner 
the  sole  proof  that  it  is  possible  to  produce  that  any- 
thing is  desirable  is  that  people  do  actually  desire  it."^ 

Extreme  Opposition  to  Happiness  Theory. — In  strik- 
ing contrast  to  this  view  of  the  self-evident  character 
of  happiness  as  the  all-desirable,  is  the  view  of  those  to 
whom  it  is  equally  self-evident  that  to  make  pleasure  the 
end  of  action  is  destructive  of  all  morality.  Carlyle  is  an 
interesting  illustration  of  a  violent  reaction  against  utili- 
tarianism. His  more  moderate  characterization  of  it  is 
"mechanical  profit  and  loss"  theory.  It  is  "an  upholstery 
and  cookery  conception  of  morals."  It  never  gets  above 
the  level  of  considerations  of  comfort  and  expediency. 
More  vehemently,  it  is  a  "pig  philosophy"  which  regards 
the  universe  as  a  "swine  trough"  in  which  virtue  is  thought 
of  as  the  attainment  of  the  maximum  possible  quantity  of 
"pig's  wash."  Again,  apostrophizing  man,  he  says:  "Art 
thou  nothing  else  than  a  Vulture  that  flies  through  the  Uni- 
verse seeking  after  Somewhat  to  eat ;  shrieking  dolefully  be- 
cause Carrion  enough  is  not  given  thee?"  Of  the  attempt 
to  make  general  happiness  the  end,  he  says  it  proposes  the 
problem  of  "Given  a  world  of  Knaves,  to  produce  honesty 

*  With  these  statements  may  be  compared  Spencer,  Principles  of 
Ethics,  pp.  30-32;  Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  pp.  42.  Sidgwick,  in 
his  Methods  of  Ethics,  holds  that  the  axiomatic  character  of  happi- 
ness as  an  end  proves  that  the  position  is  not  empirical  but  intuitional 
or  a  priori.  Only  as  we  base  ourselves  on  certain  ultimate  deliver- 
ances of  conscience  can  we  be  said  to  know  that  happiness  is  the 
desirable  end  and  that  the  happiness  of  one  is  just  as  intrinsically 
desirable  as  the  happiness  of  another.  (See  his  Methods  of  EthicSf 
Book  III.,  chs.  xiii,  and  xiv.) 


S68  HAPPINESS  AND  CONDUCT 

latter  the  rights  we  mean  that  it  has  authority  over  the 
end  which  first  appears;  and  hence  has  supreme  claim 
over  action.  So  it  is  again  evident  that  we  are  using  hap- 
piness in  two  quite  different  senses ;  so  that  if  we  call  the 
first  end  that  presents  itself  happiness,  the  right  end  will 
be  something  else;  or  if  we  call  the  consequences  which 
measure  the  worth  of  the  act  happiness,  then  the  first  end 
ought  to  be  called  something  else.  If  happiness  is  the 
natural  end  of  all  desire  and  endeavor,  it  is  absurd  to  say 
that  the  same  happiness  ought  to  be  the  end.  If  all  ob- 
jects fall  to  the  ground  any  way,  we  do  not  say  they 
ought  to  fall.  If  all  our  acts  are  moved  any  way  by 
pleasure  and  pain,  this  fact,  just  because  it  applies 
equally  to  all  acts,  throws  no  lights  upon  the  rightness 
or  wrongness  of  any  one  of  them.  Or,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  that  for  which  we  should  act  is  a  kind  of  hap- 
piness which  involves  full  consideration  of  consequences, 
it  is  misleading  to  call  that  happiness  from  which  we  act 
"blindly"  or  without  proper  forethought. 

If  happiness  is  to  be  the  same  as  the  moral  good,  it 
must  be  after  the  right  kind  of  happiness  has  been  dis- 
tinguished; namely,  that  which  commends  itself  after  ade- 
quate reflection.  Our  criticism  of  Bentham  will  be  directed 
to  showing  that,  so  far  as  he  conceives  of  happiness  as 
simply  a  sum  of  pleasures  alike  in  quality,  but  differing 
only  in  quantity,  he  cannot  make  this  distinction.  As  an 
early  critic  (Hazlitt)  of  Bentham  said:  "Pleasure  is  that 
which  is  so  in  itself.  Good  is  that  which  approves  itself 
on  reflection,  or  the  idea  of  which  is  a  source  of  satis- 
faction. All  pleasure  is  not,  therefore  (morally  speaking), 
equally  a  good ;  for  all  pleasure  does  not  equally  bear  re- 
flecting upon."  We  shall  further  try  to  show  that  the 
reason  for  Bentham's  conceiving  happiness  as  simply  a 
sum  of  pleasures  is  that  he  falls  into  the  error  already 
discussed,  of  separating  consequences  from  the  disposition 
and  capacities  or  active  tendencies  of  the  agent.    And  that, 


THE  OBJECT  OF  DESIRE  269 

when  we  correct  this  error,  the  proper  meaning  of  happi- 
ness turns  out  to  be  the  satisfaction,  realization,  or  ful- 
fillment of  some  purpose  and  power  of  the  agent.  Thus 
we  can  distinguish  between  the  false  and  unsatisfactory 
happiness  found  in  the  expression  of  a  more  or  less  iso- 
lated and  superficial  tendency  of  the  self,  and  the  true  or 
genuine  good  found  in  the  adequate  fulfillment  of  a  funda- 
mental and  fully  related  capacity.  We  shall  first  take 
up  the  discussion  under  the  heads  just  brought  out:  I. 
Happiness  as  the  Natural  End  or  Object  of  Desire;  H. 
Happiness  as  Standard  of  Judgment, 

§  1.    THE  OBJECT   OF   DESIRE 

Hedonistic  Theory  of  Desire. — That  phase  of  utilita- 
rianism which  holds  that  the  object  of  desire  is  pleasure, 
is  termed  hedonism,  or  sometimes  psychological  hedonism 
to  distinguish  it  from  ethical  hedonism,  the  theory  that 
pleasure  is  the  standard  for  judging  acts.  The  funda- 
mental fallacy  of  psj'^chological  hedonism  has  been  well 
stated  by  Green  to  be  supposing  that  a  desire  can  be 
aroused  or  created  by  the  anticipation  of  its  own  satisfac- 
tion— i.  e.,  in  supposing  that  the  idea  of  the  pleasure  of 
exercise  arouses  desire  for  it,  when  in  fact  the  idea  of 
exercise  is  pleasant  only  if  there  be  already  some  desire  for 
it  (Green,  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  p.  168).  Given  a  desire 
already  in  existence,  the  idea  of  an  object  which  is  thought 
of  as  satisfying  that  desire  will  always  arouse  pleasure,  or 
be  thought  of  as  pleasurable.  But  hedonism  fails  to  con- 
sider the  radical  difference  between  an  object's  arousing 
pleasure,  because  it  is  regarded  as  satisfying  desire,  and 
the  thought  of  a  pleasure  arousing  a  desire : — although  the 
feeling  of  agreeableness  may  intensify  the  movement  to- 
wards the  object.  A  hungry  man  thinks  of  a  beefsteak  as 
that  which  would  satisfy  his  appetite;  his  thought  is  at 
once  clothed  with  an  agreeable  tone  and  the  conscious  force 


270  HAPPINESS  AND  CONDUCT 

of  the  appetite  is  correspondingly  intensified;  the  miser 
thinks  of  gold  in  a  similar  way ;  the  benevolent  of  an  act 
of  charity,  etc.  But  in  each  case  the  presence  of  the  pleas- 
urable element  is  dependent  upon  the  thought  of  an  object 
which  is  not  pleasure — the  beefsteak,  the  gold.  The 
thought  of  the  object  precedes  the  pleasure  and  excites 
it  because  it  is  felt  to  promise  the  satisfaction  of  a  desire. 

Pleasure  is  the  Felt  Concomitant  of  Imagining  a  De- 
sire Realized  in  Its  Appropriate  Object The  object  of 

desire  is  not  pleasure,  but  some  object  is  pleasurable  be- 
cause it  is  the  congenial  terminus  of  desire.  The  pleasure 
felt  is  a  present  pleasure,  the  pleasure  which  now  accom- 
panies the  idea  of  the  satisfied  desire.  It  intensifies  the  de- 
sire in  its  present  character,  through  opposition  to  the  dis- 
agreeable tone  of  the  experienced  lack  and  want. 

I.  Pleasures  and  Original  Appetites. — Biological  in- 
stincts and  appetites  exist  not  for  the  sake  of  furnishing 
pleasure,  but  as  activities  needed  to  maintain  life — the  life 
of  the  individual  and  the  species.  Their  adequate  fulfill- 
ment is  attended  with  pleasure.  Such  is  the  undoubted  bio- 
logical fact.  Now  if  the  animal  be  gifted  with  memory  and 
anticipation,  this  complicates  the  process,  but  does  not 
change  its  nature.  The  animal  in  feeling  hungry  may  now 
consciously  anticipate  the  getting  of  food  and  may  feel 
pleasure  in  the  idea  of  food.  The  pleasure  henceforth  at- 
tends not  merely  upon  attained  satisfaction  of  appetite, 
but  also  upon  appetite  prior  to  satisfaction,  so  far  as  that 
anticipates  its  future  satisfaction.  But  desire  is  still  for 
the  object,  for  the  food.  If  the  desire  is  healthy,  it  will 
not  depend  for  its  origin  upon  the  recollection  of  a  prior 
pleasure;  the  animal  does  not  happen  to  recall  that  it  got 
pleasure  from  food  and  thus  arouse  a  desire  for  more  food. 
The  desire  springs  up  naturally  from  the  state  of  the  or- 
ganism. Only  a  jaded  and  unhealthy  appetite  has  to 
whip  itself  up  by  recalling  previous  pleasures.  But  if 
there  are  many  obstacles  and  discouragements  in  the  way 


THE  OBJECT  OF  DESIRE  271 

of  getting  the  object  which  satisfies  want,  the  anticipation 
of  pleasure  in  its  fulfillment  may  normally  intensify  the 
putting  forth  of  energy,  may  give  an  extra  reenf orcement 
to  flagging  effort.  In  this  way,  the  anticipation  of  pleas- 
ure has  a  normal  place  in  the  effective  direction  of  activi- 
ties. But  in  any  case,  the  desire  and  its  own  object  are 
primary ;  the  pleasure  is  secondary. 

2.  Pleasure  and  Acquired  Desires. — The  same  point 
comes  out  even  more  clearly  when  we  take  into  account 
the  so-called  higher  desires  and  sentiments — those  which 
usually  enter  into  distinctively  moral  questions.  In  these 
cases  it  is  no  longer  a  matter  of  the  original  instincts 
and  appetites  of  the  organism.  Their  place  is  taken  by 
acquired  habits  and  dispositions.  The  object  of  a  be- 
nevolent desire  is  the  supplying  of  another's  lack,  or  the 
increase  of  his  good.  The  pleasure  which  accompanies 
the  doing  of  a  kindness  to  others  is  not  the  object,  for  the 
individual  thinks  of  the  kindly  act  as  pleasure-giving 
only  because  he  already  has  a  benevolent  character  which 
naturally  expresses  itself  in  amiable  desires.  So  far  as 
he  is  not  benevolent,  the  act  will  appear  repulsive  rather 
than  attractive  to  him ;  and  if  it  is  done,  it  will  be  not  from 
a  benevolent  desire,  but  from  a  cowardly  or  an  avaricious 
desire,  the  pleasure  in  that  case  attending  the  thought 
of  some  other  objective  consequence,  such  as  escaping  un- 
popularity. In  like  manner,  the  aim  to  behave  honestly, 
or  to  obey  the  civil  law,  or  to  love  one's  country,  leads 
to  dwelling  upon  the  acts  and  objects  in  which  these  de- 
sires and  intents  may  be  fulfilled;  and  those  objects  which 
are  thought  of  as  affording  fulfillment  are  necessarily  put 
in  a  favorable  and  attractive  light — they  are  regarded  as 
sources  of  happiness.  To  a  patriot  the  thought  even  of 
possible  death  may  arouse  a  glow  of  satisfaction  as  he 
thinks  of  this  act  as  strengthening  his  country's  existence. 
But  to  suppose  that  this  attendant  pleasure  is  the  aim 
and  object  of  desire  is  to  put  the  cart  before  the  horse. 


272  HAPPINESS  AND  CONDUCT 

3.  Happiness  and  Desire. — All  men,  then,  may  be  said 
to  desire  happiness.  But  this  happiness  is  not  dependent 
upon  prior  experiences  of  pleasure,  which,  coming  up  in 
memory,  arouse  desire  and  rivet  attention  upon  themselves. 
To  say  that  the  desire  of  a  man  is  for  happiness  is  only 
to  say  that  happiness  comes  in  the  fulfillment  of  desire, 
the  desires  arising  on  their  own  account  as  expressions  of 
a  state  of  lack  or  incompletion  in  which  the  person  finds 
himself.  Happiness  thus  conceived  is  dependent  upon  the 
nature  of  desire  and  varies  with  it,  while  desire  varies 
with  the  type  of  character.  If  the  desire  is  the  desire 
of  an  honest  man,  then  the  prosperous  execution  of  some 
honorable  intent,  the  payment  of  a  debt,  the  adequate  ter- 
mination of  a  trust,  is  conceived  as  happiness,  as  good. 
If  it  be  the  desire  of  a  profligate,  then  entering  upon 
the  riotous  course  of  living  now  made  possible  by  inher- 
itance of  property  is  taken  as  happiness — the  one  consum- 
mation greatly  to  be  wished.  If  we  know  what  any  person 
really  finds  desirable,  what  he  stakes  his  happiness  upon, 
we  can  read  his  nature.  In  happiness,  as  the  anticipation 
of  the  satisfaction  of  desire,  there  is,  therefore,  no  sure  or 
unambiguous  quality ;  for  it  may  be  a  token  of  good  or  of 
bad  character,  according  to  the  sort  of  object  which  ap- 
peals to  the  person.  The  present  joy  found  in  the  idea  of 
the  completion  of  a  purpose  cannot  be  the  object  of  desire, 
for  we  desire  only  things  absent.  But  the  joy  is  a  mark  of 
the  congruity  or  harmony  of  the  thought  of  the  object, 
whatever  it  be — health,  dissipation,  miserliness,  prodigal- 
ity, conquest,  helpfulness — with  the  character  of  the  agent. 
It  is  an  evidence  of  the  moving  force,  the  influence,  the 
weight,  of  the  conceived  end;  it  registers  the  extent  in 
which  the  end  is  not  a  mere  intellectual  abstraction,  but  is  a 
motive  (see  p.  252).  But  the  moral  worth  of  this  motive 
depends  upon  the  character  of  the  end  in  which  the  person 
finds  his  satisfaction. 

4.  Confusion  of  Future  and  Present  Pleasure. — ^It  is  the 


THE  OBJECT  OF  DESIRE  273 

confusion  of  present  pleasure,  attendant  upon  the  thought 
of  an  object  as  satisfying  desire,  with  the  pleasure  that 
will  come  when  the  desire  is  satisfied,  that  accounts  for 
the  persistence  of  the  idea  that  pleasure  is  the  object  of 
desire.  The  fact  that  the  object  of  desire  is  now  pleasura- 
ble is  distorted  into  the  statement  that  we  seek  for  an 
absent  pleasure/  A  good  illustration  of  the  confusion  is 
seen  in  the  following  quotation: 

"The  love  of  happiness  must  express  the  sole  possible  mo- 
tive of  Judas  Iscariot  and  of  his  Master;  it  must  explain  the 
conduct  of  Stylites  on  his  pillar  or  Tiberius  at  Caprae  or 
a  Kempis  in  his  cell  or  of  Nelson  in  the  cockpit  of  the  Vic- 
tory. It  must  be  equally  good  for  saints  and  martyrs,  heroes, 
cov/ards,  debauches,  ascetics,  mystics,  misers,  prodigals,  men, 
women  and  babes  in  arms"  (Leslie  Stephen,  Science  of 
Ethics,  p.  44). 

This  statement  is  true,  as  we  have  just  seen,  in  the  sense 
that  different  persons  find  different  things  good  in  ac- 
cordance with  their  different  characters  or  habitually 
dominant  purposes ;  that  each  finds  his  happiness  in  what- 
ever he  most  sets  his  affections  upon.  Where  a  man's  heart 
is,  there  will  his  treasure  be  also,  and  where  that  is  which 
a  man  regards  as  treasure,  there  also  is  the  heart.  A 
man's  character  is  revealed  by  the  objects  which  make  him 
happy,  whether  anticipated  or  realized. 

Our  Ends  are  Our  Happiness,  Not  a  Means  to  It. — 
But  the  fallacy  is  in  the  words  "love  of  happiness."  They 
suggest  that  all  alike  are  seeking  for  some  one  and  the 
same  thing,  some  one  thing  labeled  "happiness,"  identi- 
cal in  all  cases,  differing  in  the  way  they  look  for  it — 
that  saints  and  martyrs,  heroes  and  cowards,  all  have 
just  the  same  objective  goal  in  view — if  they  only  knew 
it!     In  so  far  as  it  is  true  that  there  are  certain  funda- 

*  This  ambiguity  affects  the  statement  quoted  from  Bentham  that 
pleasure  and  pain  determine  what  we  shall  do.  His  implication  is 
that  pleasure  as  object  of  desire  moves  us;  the  fact  is  that  'present 
pleasure,  aroused  by  the  idea  of  some  object,  influences  us. 


274  HAPPINESS  AND  CONDUCT 

mental  conditions  of  the  self  which  have  to  be  satisfied  in 
order  that  there  shall  be  a  true  self  and  a  true  satisfac- 
tion, happiness  is  the  same  for  all,  and  is  the  ultimate 
good  of  all.  But  this  holds  only  of  the  standard  of  happi- 
ness which  makes  any  particular  conception  of  happiness 
right  or  wrong,  not  to  the  conceptions  actually  entertained. 
To  say  that  all  are  consciously  and  deliberately  after 
the  same  happiness  is  to  pervert  the  facts.  Happiness  as 
standard  means  the  genuine  fulfillment  of  whatever  is 
necessary  to  the  development  and  integrity  of  the  self.  In 
this  sense,  it  is  what  men  ought  to  desire ;  it  is  what  they 
do  desire  so  far  as  they  understand  themselves  and  the 
conditions  of  their  satisfaction.  But  as  natural  or  psy- 
chological end,  it  means  that  in  which  a  man  happens  at 
a  given  time  to  find  delectation,  depending  upon  his  upper- 
most wishes  and  strongest  habits.  Hence  the  objection 
which  almost  every  one,  including  the  hedonists,  feels  to 
the  statement  that  happiness  is  the  conscious  aim  of  con- 
duct. It  suggests  that  the  objects  at  which  we  ordinarily 
aim  are  not  sought  for  themselves,  but  for  some  ulterior 
gratification  to  ourselves.  In  reality  these  ends,  so  far 
as  they  correspond  to  our  capacity  and  intention,  are  our 
happiness.  All  men  love  happiness — yes,  in  the  sense 
that,  having  desires,  they  are  interested  in  the  objects  in 
which  the  desires  may  be  realized,  no  matter  whether  they 
are  worthy  or  degraded.  No;  if  by  this  be  meant  that 
happiness  is  something  other  than  and  beyond  the  con- 
ditions in  which  the  powers  of  the  person  are  brought  out, 
and  made  effective ;  no,  or  if  it  means  that  all  love  that 
which  really  will  bring  happiness. 

Necessity  for  Standard — As  many  sorts  of  character, 
so  many  sorts  of  things  regarded  as  satisfactory,  as  con- 
stitutive of  good.  Not  all  anticipations  when  realized 
are  what  they  were  expected  to  be.  The  good  in  prospect 
may  be  apples  of  Sodom,  dust  and  ashes,  in  attainment. 
Hence  some  ends,  some  forms  of  happiness,  are  regarded 


HAPPINESS  AS  A  STANDARD  275 

as  unworthy,  not  as  "real"  or  "true."  While  they  appeared 
to  be  happiness  during  the  expectancy  of  desire,  they  are 
not  approved  as  such  in  later  reflection.  Hence  the  de- 
mand for  some  standard  good  or  happiness  by  which 
the  individual  may  regulate  the  formation  of  his  desires 
and  purposes  so  that  the  present  and  the  permanent 
good,  the  good  in  desire  and  in  reflection,  will  coincide — 
so  that  the  individual  will  find  that  to  be  satisfactory  in 
his  present  view  which  will  also  permanently  satisfy  him. 
From  happiness  as  a  conceived  good  we  turn  to  happiness 
as  rightly  conceived  good ;  from  happiness  as  result  to  hap- 
piness as  standard.  As  before,  we  begin  with  the  nar- 
rower utilitarian  conception. 


§  J2.    THE  CONCEPTION  OF  HAPPINESS  AS  A  STANDARD 

Utilitarian  Method. — Hedonism  means  that  pleasure  is 
the  end  of  human  action,  because  the  end  of  desire.  Utili- 
tarianism or  universalistic  hedonism  holds  that  the  pleas- 
ure of  all  aff'ected  is  the  standard  for  judging  the  worth 
of  action, — not  that  conduciveness  to  happiness  is  the  sole 
measure  actually  employed  by  mankind  for  judging  moral 
worth,  but  that  it  is  the  sole  standard  that  should  be 
employed.  Many  other  tests  may  actually  be  used,  sym- 
pathy, prejudice,  convention,  caprice,  etc.,  but  "utility" 
is  the  one  which  will  enable  a  person  to  judge  truly  what 
is  right  or  wrong  in  any  proposed  course  of  action.  The 
method  laid  down  by  Bentham  is  as  follows:  Every  pro- 
posed act  is  to  be  viewed  with  reference  to  its  probable 
consequences  in  (a)  intensity  of  pleasure  and  pains;  (b) 
their  duration;  (c)  their  certainty  or  uncertainty;  (d) 
their  nearness  or  remoteness;  (e)  their  fecundity — i.e., 
the  tendency  of  a  pleasure  to  be  followed  by  others,  or 
a  pain  by  other  pains  ;  (f )  their  purity — i.e.,  the  tendency 
of  a  pleasure  to  be  followed  by  pains  and  vice  versa;  (g) 
their  extent,  that  is,  the  number  or   range  of  persons 


276  HAPPINESS  AND  CONDUCT 

whose  happiness  is  affected — with  reference  to  whose 
pleasures  and  pains  each  one  of  the  first  six  items  ought 
also  in  strictness  to  be  calculated!  Then  sum  up  all  the 
pleasures  which  stand  to  the  credit  side  of  the  account; 
add  the  pains  which  are  the  debit  items,  or  liabilities,  on 
the  other ;  then  take  their  algebraic  sum,  and  "the  balance 
of  it  on  the  side  of  pleasure  will  be  the  good  tendency  of 
the  act  upon  the  whole." 

Circle  in  Method. — Bentham's  argument  depends  wholly 
upon  the  possibility  of  both  foreseeing  and  accurately 
measuring  the  amount  of  future  pleasures  and  pains  that 
will  follow  from  the  intention  if  it  is  carried  into  effect, 
and  of  being  able  to  find  their  algebraic  sum.  Our  ex- 
amination will  be  directed  to  showing  that  we  have  here 
the  same  fallacy  that  we  have  just  discussed;  and  that 
Bentham  argues  in  a  circle.  For  the  argument  purports 
to  measure  present  disposition  or  intent  by  summing  up 
future  units  of  pleasure  or  pain;  but  there  is  no  way 
of  estimating  amounts  of  future  satisfaction,  the  relative 
intensity  and  weight  of  future  possible  pain  and  pleas- 
ure experiences,  except  upon  the  basis  of  present  tend- 
encies, the  habitual  aims  and  interests,  of  the  person.  ( 1 ) 
The  only  way  to  estimate  the  relative  amount  (bulk,  in- 
tensity, etc.)  of  a  future  "lot"  of  pleasure  or  pain,  is  by 
seeing  how  agreeable  to  present  disposition  are  certain 
anticipated  consequences,  themselves  not  pleasures  or  pains 
at  all.  (2)  The  only  basis  upon  which  we  can  be  sure 
that  there  is  a  right  estimate  of  future  satisfactions,  is 
that  we  already  have  a  good  character  as  a  basis  and 
organ  for  forming  judgment. 

(i)  How  Pleasures  and  Pains  are  Measured — If  we 
keep  strictly  to  Bentham's  own  conception  of  pleasures 
as  isolated  entities,  all  just  alike  in  quality,  but  differ- 
ing in  quantity — in  the  two  dimensions  of  intensity  and 
duration — the  scheme  he  recommends  is  simply  impossible. 
What  does  it  mean  to  say  that  one  pleasure,  as  an  ex- 


HAPPINESS  AS  A  STANDARD  277 

ternal  and  future  fact,  is  equal  to  another?  What  prac- 
tical sense  is  there  in  the  notion  that  a  pain  may  be  found 
which  is  exactly  equal  to  a  pleasure,  so  that  it  may  just 
offset  it  or  reduce  it  to  zero?  How  can  one  weigh  the 
amount  of  pain  in  a  jumping  and  long-continued  tooth- 
ache against,  say,  the  pleasure  of  some  charitable  deed 
performed  under  conditions  which  may  bring  on  the  tooth- 
ache? What  relevancy  has  the  quantitative  comparison 
to  a  judgment  of  moral  worth?  How  many  units  of 
pleasure  are  contained  in  the  fulfillment  of  the  intention 
to  go  to  war  for  one's  country?  How  many  in  the  ful- 
fillment of  the  intention  to  remain  at  home  with  one's 
family  and  secure  profitable  contracts  from  the  govern- 
ment ?  How  shall  the  pains  involved  in  each  set  be  detected 
and  have  their  exact  numerical  force  assigned  them? 
How  shall  one  set  be  measured  over  against  the  other? 
If  a  man  is  already  a  patriot,  one  set  of  consequences 
comes  into  view  and  has  weight ;  if  one  is  already  a  coward 
and  a  money-grubber,  another  set  of  consequences  looms  up 
and  its  value  is  measured  on  a  rule  of  very  different  scale. 

Present  Congeniality  to  Character  Measures  Im- 
portance.— ^When  we  analyze  what  occurs,  we  find  that  this 
process  of  comparing  future  possible  satisfactions,  to  see 
which  is  the  greater,  takes  place  on  exactly  the  opposite 
basis  from  that  set  forth  by  Bentham.  We  do  not  com- 
pare results  in  the  way  of  fixed  amounts  of  pleasures  and 
pains,  but  we  compare  objective  results,  changes  to  be 
effected  in  ourselves,  in  others,  in  the  whole  social  situa- 
tion ;  during  this  comparison  desires  and  aversions  take 
more  definite  form  and  strength,  so  that  we  find  the  idea 
of  one  result  more  agreeable,  more  harmonious,  to  our 
present  character  than  another.  Then  we  say  it  is  more 
satisfying,  it  affords  more  pleasure  than  another.  The 
satisfaction  now  aroused  in  the  mind  at  the  thought  of 
getting  even  with  an  enemy  may  be  stronger  than  the  pain- 
fulness  of  the  thought  of  the  harm  or  loss  that  will  come 


278  HAPPINESS  AND  CONDUCT 

to  him  or  than  the  thought  of  danger  itself, — then  the 
pleasures  to  follow  from  vengeance  are  esteemed  more  nu- 
merous, stronger,  more  lasting,  etc.,  than  those  which 
would  follow  from  abstinence.  Or,  to  say  that  satisfac- 
tions are  about  equal  means  that  we  are  now  at  a  loss 
to  choose  between  them.  But  we  are  not  at  a  loss  to  choose 
because  certain  future  pains  and  pleasures  present  them- 
selves in  and  of  themselves  as  fixed  amounts  irrespective 
of  our  own  wishes,  habits,  and  plans  of  life.  Similarly 
we  may  speak  of  satisfactions  being  added  to  one  another 
and  the  total  sum  increased;  or  of  dissatisfaction  coming 
in  as  offsets  and  reducing  the  amount  of  satisfaction.  But 
this  does  not  mean  that  pains  and  pleasures  which  we  ex- 
pect to  arrive  in  the  future  are  added  and  subtracted — 
what  intelligible  meaning  can  such  a  phrase  possess  .f^  It 
means  that  as  we  think  first  of  this  result  and  then  of 
another,  the  present  happiness  found  in  the  anticipation 
of  one  is  increased  by  the  anticipation  of  the  other ;  or  that 
the  results  are  so  incompatible  that  the  present  satisfac- 
tion, instead  of  swelling  and  expanding  as  from  one 
thought  to  another,  is  chilled  and  lessened.  Thus  we  might 
find  the  thought  of  revenge  sweet  (and  thus  give  a  high 
valuation  to  the  units  of  pleasure  to  result  from  it),  but 
be  checked  by  the  thought  of  the  meanness  of  the  act,  or 
of  how  we  would  feel  if  some  one  else,  whose  good  opinion 
we  highly  esteem,  should  hear  of  it. 

(2)  Congeniality  to  a  Good  Character  the  Right  Meas- 
ure.— The  net  outcome  of  this  discussion  is  that  the  prac- 
tical value  of  our  acts  is  defined  to  us  at  any  given  time 
by  the  satisfaction,  or  displeasure,  we  take  in  the  ideas  of 
changes  we  foresee  in  case  the  act  takes  place.  The  present 
happiness  or  distaste,  depending  upon  the  harmony  be- 
tween the  idea  in  question  and  the  character,  defines  for 
us  the  value  of  the  future  consequences:  which  is  the 
reverse  of  saying  that  a  calculation  of  future  pains  and 
pleasures  determines  for  us  the  value  of  the  act  and  char- 


HAPPINESS  AS  A  STANDARD  279 

acter.  But  this  applies  to  any  end  as  it  happens  to  arise, 
not  to  the  end  as  we  ought  to  form  it;  we  are  still  with- 
out a  standard.  What  has  been  said  applies  to  the  crimi- 
nal as  well  as  to  the  saint ;  to  the  miser  and  the  prodigal 
and  the  wisely  generous  alike.  The  idea  of  a  certain  re- 
sult warms  the  heart  of  each,  his  heart  being  what  it  is. 
The  assassin  would  not  be  one  if  the  thought  of  a  murder 
had  not  been  entertained  by  him  and  if  the  thought  had 
not  been  liked  and  welcomed — made  at  home.  Only  upon 
the  supposition  that  character  is  already  good  can  we 
trust  judgment,  first,  to  foresee  all  the  consequences  that 
should  be  foreseen ;  and,  secondly,  to  respond  to  each  fore- 
seen consequence  with  the  right  emotional  stamp  of  like 
and  dislike,  pleasure  and  pain.  The  Greeks  said  it  is  the 
object  of  a  moral  education  to  see  that  the  individual  finds 
his  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  noble  ends  and  finds  his  pain 
in  the  contemplation  of  base  ends.  Again,  as  Aristotle 
said: 

"The  good  man  wills  the  real  object  of  intent,  but  what  the 
bad  man  desires  may  be  anything;  just  as  physically  those 
in  good  condition  want  things  that  are  wholesome,  while  the 
diseased  may  take  anything  to  be  healthful;  for  the  good  man 
judges  correctly"  {Ethics,  Book  III.,  4,  4).  And  again: 
"The  good  man  is  apt  to  go  right  about  pleasure,  and  the  bad 
man  is  apt  to  go  wrong"  (Book  II.,  3,  7),  and,  finally,  "It 
is  only  to  the  good  man  that  the  good  presents  itself  as  good, 
for  vice  perverts  us  and  causes  us  to  err  about  the  principle 
of  action"  (Book  III.,  12,  10). 

Principle  of  Quality  of  Pleasure  as  Criterion. — Mill, 
still  calling  himself  a  utilitarian,  reaches  substantially  the 
same  result  by  (a)  making  the  quality  of  pleasure,  not 
its  bulk  or  intensity,  the  standard;  and  (b)  referring  dif- 
ferences in  quality  to  differences  in  the  characters  which 
experience  them. 

"It  is,"  he  says,  "quite  compatible  with  the  principle  of  utility 
to  recognize  the  fact  that  some  kinds  of  pleasure  are  more 


280  HAPPINESS  AND  CONDUCT 

desirable  and  more  valuable  than  others.  Human  beings  have 
faculties  more  elevated  than  the  animal  appetites,  and,  when 
once  made  conscious  of  them,  do  not  regard  anything  as  hap- 
piness that  does  not  include  their  gratification." 

The  higher  the  capacity  or  faculty,  the  higher  in  quality 
the  pleasure  of  its  exercise  and  fulfillment,  irrespective 
of  bulk.  But  how  do  we  know  which  faculty  is  higher, 
and  hence  what  satisfaction  is  more  valuable?  By  refer- 
ence to  the  experience  of  the  man  who  has  had  the  best 
opportunity  to  exercise  all  the  powers  in  question. 

"Few  human  creatures  would  consent  to  be  changed  into  any 
of  the  lower  animals,  for  a  promise  of  the  fullest  allowance 
of  a  beast's  pleasure;  no  intelligent  human  being  would  con- 
sent to  be  a  fool,  no  instructed  person  would  be  an  ignoramus, 
no  person  of  feeling  and  conscience  would  be  selfish  and  base, 
even  though  they  should  be  persuaded  that  the  fool,  the 
dunce  or  the  rascal  is  better  satisfied  with  his  lot  than 
they  are  with  theirs."  And  again,  "It  is  indisputable  that 
the  being  whose  capacities  of  enjoyment  are  low  has  tlie 
greatest  chance  of  having  them  fully  satisfied;  and  a  highly 
endowed  being  will  always  feel  that  any  happiness  which  he 
can  look  for,  as  the  world  is  constituted,  is  imperfect.  ...  It 
is  better  to  be  a  human  being  dissatisfied  than  a  pig  satisfied; 
better  to  be  a  Socrates  dissatisfied  than  a  fool  satisfied.  And 
if  the  fool  or  the  pig  is  of  a  different  opinion,  it  is  because 
he  only  knows  his  own  side  of  the  question.  The  other  party 
to  the  comparison  knows  both  sides." 

The  net  result  of  our  discussion  is,  then,  (1)  that  hap- 
piness consists  in  the  fulfillment  in  their  appropriate  ob- 
jects (or  the  anticipation  of  such  fulfillment)  of  the  powers 
of  the  self  manifested  in  desires,  purposes,  efforts;  (2) 
true  happiness  consists  in  the  satisfaction  of  those  powers 
of  the  self  which  are  of  higher  quality ;  ( 3 )  that  the  man 
of  good  character,  the  one  in  whom  these  high  powers  are 
already  active,  is  the  judge,  in  the  concrete,  of  happiness 
and  misery.     We  shall  now  discuss 


THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  HAPPINESS      281 

§  3.    THE    CONSTITUTION    OF    HAPPINESS 

Happiness  consists  in  the  agreement,  whether  antici- 
pated or  realized,  of  the  objective  conditions  brought  about 
by  our  endeavors  with  our  desires  and  purposes.  This  con- 
ception of  happiness  is  contrasted  with  the  notion  that  it 
is  a  sum  or  collection  of  separate  states  of  sensation  or 
feeling. 

1.  One  View  Separates,  while  the  Other  Connects, 
Pleasure  and  Objective  Conditions. — In  one  case,  the 
agreeable  feeling  is  a  kind  of  psychical  entity,  supposed 
to  be  capable  of  existence  by  itself  and  capable  of  ab- 
straction from  the  objective  end  of  action.  The  pleasant 
thing  is  one  thing;  the  pleasure,  another;  or,  rather,  the 
pleasant  thing  must  be  analyzed  into  two  independent  ele- 
ments, the  pleasure  as  feeling  and  the  thing  with  which 
it  happens  to  be  associated.  It  is  the  pleasure  alone,  when 
dissociated^  which  is  the  real  end  of  conduct,  an  object 
being  at  best  an  external  means  of  securing  it.  It  is  the 
pleasurable  feeling  which  happens  to  be  associated  with 
food,  with  music,  with  a  landscape,  that  makes  it  good; 
health,  art,  are  not  good  in  themselves.  The  other  view 
holds  that  pleasure  has  no  such  existence  by  itself;  that 
it  is  only  a  name  for  the  pleasant  object;  that  by  pleas- 
ure is  meant  the  agreement  or  congruity  which  exists  be- 
tween some  capacity  of  the  agent  and  some  objective  fact 
in  which  this  capacity  is  realized.  It  expresses  the  way 
some  object  meets,  fits  into,  responds  to,  an  activity  of 
the  agent.  To  say  that  food  is  agreeable,  means  that  food 
satisfies  an  organic  function.  Music  is  pleasant  because 
by  it  certain  capacities  or  demands  of  the  person  with  re- 
spect to  rhythm  of  hearing  are  fulfilled;  a  landscape  is 
beautiful  because  it  carries  to  fulfillment  the  visual  possi- 
bilities of  the  spectator. 

2.  Qualities  of  Pleasure  Vary  with  Objects,  and  with 
Springs  to  Action — When  happiness  is  conceived  a,s  an 


282  HAPPINESS  AND  CONDUCT 

aggregate  of  states  of  feeling,  these  are  regarded  as 
homogeneous  in  quality,  differing  from  one  another  only 
in  intensity  and  duration.  Their  qualitative  differences 
are  not  intrinsic,  but  are  due  to  the  different  objects  with 
which  they  are  associated  (as  pleasures  of  hearing,  or 
vision).  Hence  they  disappear  when  the  pleasure  is  taken 
by  itself  as  an  end.  But  if  agreeableness  is  precisely  the 
agreeableness  or  congruousness  of  some  objective  condi- 
tion with  some  impulse,  habit,  or  tendency  of  the  agent, 
then,  of  course,  pure  pleasure  is  a  myth.  Any  pleasure 
is  qualitatively  unique,  being  precisely  the  harmony  of 
one  set  of  conditions  with  its  appropriate  activity.  The 
pleasure  of  eating  is  one  thing;  the  pleasure  of  hearing 
music,  another;  the  pleasure  of  an  amiable  act,  another; 
the  pleasure  of  drunkenness  or  of  anger  is  still  another. 
Hence  the  possibility  of  absolutely  different  moral  values 
attaching  to  pleasures,  according  to  the  type  or  aspect 
of  character  which  they  express.  But  if  the  good  is  only 
a  sum  of  pleasures,  any  pleasure,  so  far  as  it  goes,  is  as 
good  as  any  other — the  pleasure  of  malignity  as  good  as 
the  pleasure  of  kindliness,  simply  as  pleasure.  Accord- 
ingly Bentham  said,  the  pleasure  of  push-pin  (a  game) 
is  as  good  as  that  of  poetry.  And  as  he  said  again,  since 
pleasure  is  the  motive  of  every  act,  there  is  no  motive 
which  in  itself,  and  as  far  as  it  goes,  is  not  good — it  is 
only  bad  if  it  turns  out  in  the  end  to  produce  more  pain 
than  pleasure.  The  pleasure  of  malignant  gossip  is  so 
far  as  it  is  pleasure  a  mitigation  of  the  badness  of  the 
act.  Not  so,  if  happiness  is  the  experience  into  which 
pleasures  enter  so  far  as  the  tendencies  of  character 
that  produce  them  are  approved  of.  An  act  may  bring 
a  pleasure  and  yet  that  pleasure  be  no  part  of  happi- 
ness, but  rather  a  blot  and  blemish.  Such  would  be  the 
case,  for  example,  with  the  pleasure  which  one  might  take 
in  an  act  of  charity  because  one  had  thereby  put  him- 
self in  a  position  superior  to  that  of  the  recipient.     A 


THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  HAPPINESS 

good  man  who  caught  himself  feehng  pleasure  from  this 
phase  of  the  act  would  not  regard  this  pleasure  as  a 
further  element  of  good  attained,  but  as  detracting  from 
his  happiness.  A  pleasure  may  be  accepted  or  reacted 
against.  So  far  as  not  acquiesced  in  it  is,  from  the  stand- 
point of  happiness,  positively  disagreeable.  Surrender 
to  a  pleasure,  taking  it  to  be  one's  happiness,  is  one  of 
the  surest  ways  of  revealing  or  discovering  what  sort  of 
a  man  one  is.  On  the  other  hand,  the  pain  which  a 
miserly  man  feels  in  his  first  acts  of  generosity  may  be 
welcomed  by  him  as,  under  the  circumstances,  an  element 
in  his  good,  since  it  is  a  sign  of  and  factor  in  the  improve- 
ment of  character. 

3.  The  Unification  of  Character. — Happiness  as  a  sum 
of  pleasures  does  not  afford  a  basis  for  unifying  or  or- 
ganizing the  various  tendencies  and  capacities  of  the  self. 
It  makes  possible  at  best  only  a  mechanical  compromise 
or  external  adjustment.  Take,  for  example,  the  satisfac- 
tion attendant  upon  acting  from  a  benevolent  or  a  mali- 
cious impulse.  There  can  be  no  question  that  some 
pleasure  is  found  in  giving  way  to  either  impulse  when 
it  is  strongly  felt.  Now  if  we  regard  the  pleasure  as 
a  fixed  state  in  itself,  and  good  or  happiness  as  a  sum 
of  such  states,  the  only  moral  superiority  that  can  attach 
to  acting  benevolently  is  that,  upon  the  whole,  more  units 
of  pleasure  come  from  it  than  from  giving  way  to  the 
opposite  spring  of  action.  It  is  simply  a  question  of 
greater  or  less  quantity  in  the  long  run.  Each  trait 
of  character,  each  act,  remains  morally  independent,  cut 
off  from  others.  Its  only  relation  to  others  is  that  which 
arises  when  its  results  in  the  way  of  units  of  agreeable 
or  painful  feeling  are  compared,  as  to  bulk,  with  analogous 
consequences  flowing  from  some  other  trait,  or  act.  But  if 
the  fundamental  thing  in  happiness  is  the  relation  of  the 
desire  and  intention  of  the  agent  to  its  own  successful  out- 
let, there  is  an  inherent  connection  between  our  different 


284  HAPPINESS  AND  CONDUCT 

tendencies.  The  satisfaction  of  one  tendency  strengthens 
itself,  and  strengthens  alKed  tendencies,  while  it  weakens 
others.  A  man  who  gives  way  easily  to  anger  (and  finds 
gratification  in  it)  against  the  acts  of  those  whom  he 
regards  as  enemies,  nourishes  unawares  a  tendency  to  irri- 
tability in  all  directions  and  thus  modifies  the  sources  and 
nature  of  all  satisfaction.  The  man  who  cherishes  the  sat- 
isfaction he  derives  from  a  landscape  may  increase  his 
susceptibility  to  enjoyment  from  poetry  and  pictures. 

The  Final  Question. — The  final  question  of  happiness, 
the  question  which  marks  off^  true  and  right  happiness 
from  false  and  wrong  gratification,  comes  to  this :  Can 
there  be  found  ends  of  action,  desirable  in  themselves, 
which  reenforce  and  expand  not  only  the  motives  from 
which  they  directly  spring,  but  also  the  other  tendencies 
and  attitudes  which  are  sources  of  happiness  ?  Can  there  be 
found  powers  whose  exercise  confirms  ends  which  are  stable 
and  weakens  and  removes  objects  which  occasion  only  rest- 
less, peevish,  or  transitory  satisfaction,  and  ultimately 
thwart  and  stunt  the  growth  of  happiness?  Harmony, 
reenforcement,  expansion  are  the  signs  of  a  true  or  moral 
satisfaction.  What  is  the  good  which  while  good  in  direct 
enjoyment  also  brings  with  it  fuller  and  more  continuous 
life.? 


LITERATURE 

For  pleasure  as  the  object  of  desire  and  the  psychology  of  hedon- 
ism, see  Bain,  Emotions  and  Will,  Part  II.,  ch.  viii.;  Rickaby,  Moral 
Philosophy,  pp.  54-61,  and  Aquinas  Ethicus,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  104-121; 
Sidgwick,  Methods  of  Ethics,  pp.  34-47,  and  the  whole  of  Book  II., 
and  Book  III.,  chs.  xiii.  and  xiv.;  Mackenzie,  Manual  of  Ethics, 
Book  II.,  ch.  iv.;  Muirhead,  Elements  of  Ethics,  Book  III.,  ch.  1.; 
Gizyeki,  A  Student's  Manual  of  Ethical  Philosophy;  Green,  Prole- 
gomena to  Ethics,  pp.  163-177,  226-240,  374-388;  James,  Principles  of 
Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  549-559;  Martineau,  Types  of  Ethical 
Theory,  Vol.  II.,  Part  II.,  Book  II.,  Branch  iv. 

For  the  history  of  hedonism,  see  Wallace,  Epicureanism;  Pater, 
Marius  the  Epicurean;  Sidgwick,  History  of  Ethics,  ch.  ii.,  passim  and 
ch.  iv.,  §  14-17;  Hume,  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  Book  III.,  and  the 


THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  HAPPINESS      285 

references  to   Bentham  and   Mill  in  the  text;   Watson,  Hedonistic 
Theories  from  Aristippus  to  Spencer. 

For  the  utilitarian  standard,  see  Lecky,  History  of  European 
Morals,  Vol.  I.,  ch.  i.;  Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  chs.  iv.  and  v.; 
Spencer,  Principles  of  Ethics,  Part  I.;  HofFding,  Ethik,  ch.  vii.,  and 
Monist,  Vol.  I.,  p.  529;  Paulsen,  System  of  Ethics,  pp.  222-286,  and 
404-414;  Grote,  Examination  of  the  Utilitarian  Philosophy;  Wilson 
and  Fowler,  Principles  of  Morals,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  98-112;  Vol.  II.,  pp. 
262-273;  Green,  Prolegomena,  pp.  240-255,  399-415;  Martineau,  Types, 
pp.  308-334;  Alexander,  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  pp.  204-211;  Seth, 
Principles  of  Ethics,  pp.  94-111;  Sidgwick,  The  Ethics  of  T.  H.  Green, 
Herbert  Spencer  and  J.  Martineau,  Lectures  I.-IV.  of  the  Criticism 
of  Spencer.  Compare  the  references  sub  voce  Happiness,  899-903,  in 
Rand's  Bibliography,  Vol.  III.  of  Baldwin's  Dictionary  of  Philoso- 
phy and  Psychology. 


/ 


CHAPTER  XV 

HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS  ^ 

In  form,  the  true  good  is  thus  an  inclusive  or  expanding 
end.  In  substance,  the  only  end  which  fulfills  these  con- 
ditions is  the  social  good.  The  utilitarian  standard  is 
social  consequences.  To  repeat  our  earlier  quotation  from 
Bentham  (above,  p.  ^64)  : 

"The  greatest  happiness  of  all  those  whose  interest  is  in 
question  is  the  right  and  proper,  and  the  only  right  and 
proper  and  universally  desirable  end  of  human  action."  Mill 
says,  "To  do  as  you  would  be  done  by,  and  to  love  your 
neighbor  as  yourself,  constitute  the  ideal  perfection  of  utili- 
tarian morality."  And  again:  "The  happiness  which  is  the 
Utilitarian  standard  of  what  is  right  in  conduct  is  not  the 
agent's  own  happiness,  but  that  of  all  concerned;  as  between 
his  own  happiness  and  that  of  others.  Utilitarianism  requires 
him  to  be  as  strictly  impartial  as  a  disinterested  and  benevo- 
lent spectator."  So  Sidgwick  {Methods  of  Ethics,  p.  379)  > 
"By  Utilitarianism  is  here  meant  the  ethical  theory,  first  dis- 
tinctly formulated  by  Bentham,  that  the  conduct  which  under 
any  given  circumstances  is  externally  or  objectively  right  is 
that  which  produces  the  greatest  amount  of  happiness  on  the 
whole;  that  is  taking  into  account  all  whose  happiness  is 
affected  by  the  conduct.  It  would  tend  to  clearness  if  we 
might  call  this  principle,  and  the  method  based  upon  it,  by 
some  such  name  as  Universalistic  hedonism."  And  finally, 
Bain  {Emotions  and  Will,  p.  303)  :  "Utility  is  opposed  to  the 
selfish  principle,  for,  as  propounded,  it  always  implies  the 
good  of  society  generally  and  the  subordination  of  individual 
interests  to  the  general  good." 

*  The  discussion  of  altruism  and  egoism  in  ch.  xviil.  on  the  Self, 
considers  some  aspects  of  this  question  from  another  point  of  view. 

1^ 


HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS  287 

Social  Purpose  of  Utilitarianism. — Its  aim,  then,  was 
the  "greatest  possible  happiness  of  the  greatest  possible 
number,"  a  democratic,  fraternal  aim.  In  the  compu- 
tation of  the  elements  of  this  aim,  it  insisted  upon  the 
principle  of  social  and  moral  equality :  "every  one  to  count 
for  one,  and  only  for  one."  The  standard  was  the  well- 
being  of  the  community  conceived  as  a  community  of  indi- 
viduals, all  of  whom  had  equal  rights  and  none  of  whom  had 
special  privileges  or  exclusive  avenues  of  access  to  happi- 
ness. In  a  period  in  which  the  democratic  spirit  in  Eng- 
land was  asserting  itself  against  vested  interests  and 
class-distinctions,  against  legalized  inequalities  of  all  sorts, 
the  utilitarian  philosophy  became  the  natural  and  per- 
haps indispensable  adjunct  of  the  liberal  and  reforming 
spirit  in  law,  education,  and  politics.  Every  custom, 
every  institution,  was  cross-questioned;  it  was  not  allowed 
to  plead  precedent  and  prior  existence  as  a  basis  for  con- 
tinued existence.  It  had  to  prove  that  it  conduced  to 
the  happiness  of  the  community  as  a  whole,  or  be  legislated 
out  of  existence  or  into  reform.  Bentham's  fundamental 
objection  to  other  types  of  moral  theories  than  his 
own  was  not  so  much  philosophic  or  theoretic  as  it  was 
practical.  He  felt  that  every  intuitional  theory  tended 
to  dignify  prejudice,  convention,  and  fixed  customs, 
and  so  to  consecrate  vested  interests  and  inequitable 
institutions. 

Recognition  by  an  Opponent. — The  following  remarks 
by  T.  H.  Green  are  the  more  noteworthy  because  coming 
from  a  consistent  opponent  of  the  theory: 

"The  chief  theory  of  conduct  which  in  Modern  Europe  has 
afforded  the  conscientious  citizen  a  vantage  ground  for  judg- 
ing of  the  competing  claims  on  his  obedience,  and  enabled 
him  to  substitute  a  critical  and  intelligent  for  a  blind  and 
unquestioning  conformity,  has  no  doubt  been  the  Utilitarian. 
.  .  .  Whatever  the  errors  arising  from  its  hedonistic  psy- 
chology, no  other  theory  has  been  available  for  the  social  or 
political  reformer,  combining  so  much  truth  with  such  ready 


288  HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS 

applicability.  No  other  has  offered  so  commanding  a  point 
of  view  from  which  to  criticize  the  precepts  and  institutions 
presented  as   authoritative."  ^ 

And  again,  speaking  of  the  possibility  of  practical 
service  from  theory,  he  says : 

"The  form  of  philosophy  which  in  the  modern  world  has 
most  conspicuously  rendered  this  service  has  been  the  Utili- 
tarian, because  it  has  most  definitely  announced  the  interest 
of  humanity  without  distinction  of  persons  or  classes,  as  the 
end  by  reference  to  which  all  claims  upon  obedience  are 
ultimately  to  be  measured.  .  .  .  Impartiality  of  reference  to 
human  well-being  has  been  the  great  lesson  which  the  Utili- 
tarian has  had  to  teach."  ^ 

Irreconcilable  Conflict  of  Motive  and  End. — But  un- 
fortunately the  assertion  that  the  happiness  of  all  con- 
cerned is  the  "universally  desirable  end,"  is  mixed  up  by 
early  utilitarianism  with  an  hedonistic  psychology,  ac- 
cording to  which  the  desired  object  is  private  and  personal 
pleasure.  What  is  desirable  is  thus  so  different  from  what 
is  desired  as  to  create  an  uncrossable  chasm  between  the 
true  end  of  action — the  happiness  of  all, — and  the  mov- 
ing spring  of  desire  and  action — private  pleasure.  That 
there  is  a  difference  between  what  is  naturally  desired 
(meaning  by  "naturally"  what  first  arouses  interest  and 
excites  endeavor)  and  what  is  morally  desirable  (under- 
standing by  this  the  consequences  which  present  them- 
selves in  adequate  deliberation),  is  certain  enough.  But 
the  desirable  must  be  capable  of  becoming  desired,  or 
else  there  is  such  a  contradiction  that  morality  is  impos- 
sible. If,  now,  the  object  of  desire  is  always  private 
pleasure,  how  can  the  recognition  of  the  consequences 
upon  the  happiness  or  misery  of  others  ever  become  an 

*  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  p.  361. 

'  Ibid.,  pp.  365-66.  Green  then  goes  on  to  argue  that  this  service 
has  been  in  spite  of  its  hedonistic  factor,  and  that  if  the  theory  were 
generally  applied  with  all  the  hedonistic  implications  to  personal 
behavior  in  private  life,  it  would  put  impediments  in  the  way  of  moral 
progress. 


HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS  289 

effective  competitor  with  considerations  of  personal  well- 
being,  when  the  two  conflict?  ^ 

Lack  of  Harmony  among  Pleasurable  Ends. — If  it  so 
happens  that  the  activities  which  secure  the  personal 
pleasure  also  manage  to  affect  others  favorably,  so  much 
the  better;  but  since,  by  the  theory,  the  individual  must 
be  moved  exclusively  by  desire  for  his  own  pleasure,  woe 
betide  others  if  their  happiness  happens  to  stand  in  the 
way.^  It  could  only  be  by  accident  that  activities  of  a 
large  number  of  individuals  all  seeking  their  own  private 
pleasures  should  coincide  in  effecting  the  desirable  end 
of  the  common  happiness.  The  outcome  would,  more  likely, 
be  a  competitive  "war  of  all  against  all."  It  is  of  such 
a  situation  that  Kant  says:  "There  results  a  harmony 
like  that  which  a  certain  satirical  poem  depicts  as  exist- 
ing between  a  married  couple  bent  on  going  to  ruin, 
'Oh,  marvelous  harmony!  what  he  wishes,  she  wishes  too'; 
or  like  what  is  said  of  the  pledge  of  Francis  I.  to  the 
Emperor  Charles  V.,  'What  my  brother  wants,  that  I  want 
too'  (namely  Milan)."  ^  The  existence  already  noted  of 
an  unperceived  and  unreconcilable  division  between  happi- 
ness m  the  form  of  future  consequences,  and  pleasure  as 
object  of  desire  and  present  moving  spri/ngy  thus  becomes 
of  crucial  and,  for  hedonistic  utilitarianism,  of  cata- 
strophic importance.  We  shall  first  discuss  the  efforts  of 
utilitarianism  to  deal  with  the  problem. 

*  It  will  be  noted  that  we  have  here  the  same  double  r&le  of 
pleasure  that  met  us  at  the  outset  (see  ante,  p.  267) :  one  sort  of 
happiness  is  the  moving  spring  of  action,  because  object  of  desire; 
another  and  incompatible  sort  is  the  standard,  and  hence  proper 
or   right   end. 

^  It  is  this  hedonistic  element  of  the  object  of  desire  and  moving 
spring  which  calls  forth  such  denunciations  as  Carlyle's;  on  the 
other  hand,  it  is  the  assertion  of  the  common  happiness  as  the 
standard  which  calls  out  the  indignant  denial  of  the  utilitarians; 
which,  for  example,  leads  Spencer  to  retort  upon  Carlyle's  epithet  of 
"pig-philosophy"  with  a  counter  charge  that  Carlyle's  epithet  is  a 
survival  of  "devil-worship,"  since  it  assumes  pain  to  be  a  blessing. 
{Principles  of  Ethics,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  40-41). 

«  Abbott's  Kanfs  Theory  of  Ethics,  p.  116. 


290  HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS 

Mill's  Formal  Method. — We  mention  first  a  purely 
logical  or  formal  suggestion  of  Mill's,  not  because  it  is 
of  very  much  significance  one  way  or  the  other,  but  because 
it  helps  to  bring  out  the  problem. 

**No  reason  can  be  given  why  the  general  happiness  is  de- 
sirable, except  that  each  person,  so  far  as  he  believes  it  to 
be  obtainable,  desires  his  own  happiness.  This,  however,  being 
a  fact,  we  have  not  only  all  the  proof  which  the  case  admits 
of,  but  all  which  it  is  possible  to  require,  that  happiness  is  a 
good;  that  each  person's  happiness  is  a  good  to  that  person; 
and  the  general  happiness,  therefore,  a  good  to  the  aggregate 
of  all  persons."  ^ 

It  clearly  does  not  follow  that  because  the  good  of  A  and 
B  and  C,  etc.,  is  collectively,  or  aggregately,  a  good  to  A 
and  B  and  C,  etc.,  that  therefore  the  good  of  A  and  B  and 
C,  etc.,  or  of  anybody  beyond  A  himself,  is  regarded  as  a 
good  by  A — especially  when  the  original  premise  is  that 
A  seeks  his  own  good.  Because  all  men  want  to  be  happy 
themselves,  it  hardly  follows  that  each  wants  all  to  be 
so.  It  does  follow,  perhaps,  that  that  would  be  the  rea- 
sonable thing  to  want.  If  each  man  desires  happiness 
for  himself,  to  an  outside  spectator  looking  at  the  matter 
in  the  cold  light  of  intelligence,  there  might  be  no  reason 
why  the  happiness  of  one  should  be  any  more  precious  or 
desirable  than  that  of  another.  From  a  mathematical 
standpoint,  the  mere  fact  that  the  individual  knows  he 
wants  happiness,  and  knows  that  others  are  like  himself, 
that  they  too  are  individuals  who  want  happiness,  might 
commit  each  individual,  theoretically,  to  the  necessity 
of  regarding  the  happiness  of  every  other  as  equally 
sacred  with  his  own.  But  the  difficulty  is  that  there  is 
no  chance,  upon  the  hedonistic  psychology  of  desire,  for 
this  rational  conviction  to  get  in  its  work,  even  if  it  be 
intellectually  entertained.    The  intellectual  perception  and 

*  Utilitarianism,  third  paragraph  of  eh.  iv. 


HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS  291 

the  mechanism  of  human  motivation  remain  opposed. 
Mill's  statement,  in  other  words,  puts  the  problem  which 
hedonistic   utilitarianism   has   to   solve. 

Materially,  as  distinct  from  this  formal  statement, 
utilitarianism  has  two  instrumentalities  upon  which  it 
relies :  one,  internal,  found  in  the  nature  of  the  individual ; 
the  other,  external,  or  in  social  arrangements. 

I.  Bentham's  View  of  Sympathetic  Pleasures. — In  the 
long  list  of  pleasures  moving  men  to  action  which  Ben- 
tham  drew  up,  he  included  what  he  called  the  social  and 
the  semi-social.  The  social  are  the  pleasures  of  benevo- 
lence; the  semi-social,  the  pleasures  of  amity  (peace  with 
one's  fellows)  and  of  reputation. 

**The  pleasures  of  benevolence  are  the  pleasures  resulting 
from  the  view  of  any  pleasures  supposed  to  be  possessed  by 
the  beings  who  may  be  the  objects  of  benevolence"  {Prin- 
ciples of  Morals  and  Legislation).  And  if  it  be  asked  what 
motives  lying  within  a  man's  self  he  has  to  consult  the  happi- 
ness of  others,  "in  answer  to  this,  it  cannot  but  be  admitted 
that  the  only  interests  which  a  man  at  all  times  and  upon 
all  occasions  is  sure  to  find  adequate  motives  for  consulting 
are  his  own.  Notwithstanding  this  there  are  no  occasions  on 
which  a  man  has  not  some  motives  for  consulting  the  happi- 
ness of  other  men.  In  the  first  place,  he  has,  on  all  occasions, 
the  purely  social  motive  of  sympathy  and  benevolence;  in  the 
next  place,  he  has,  on  most  occasions,  the  semi-social  motives 
of  amity  and  love  of  reputation"  (Ibid.,  ch.  xix.,  §  1).  So 
important  finally  are  the  sympathetic  motives  that  he  says 
"The  Dictates  of  Utility  are  neither  more  nor  less  than  the 
dictates  of  the  most  extensive  and  enlightened  (that  is,  well 
advised)^  benevolence"   {Ibid.,  ch.  x.,  §4). 

In  short,  we  are  so  constituted  that  the  happiness  of 
others  gives  us  happiness,  their  misery  creates  distress  in 
us.     We   are   also   so  constituted   that,  even   aside   from 

*  By  this  phrase  Bentham  refers  to  the  necessity  of  controlling  this 
spring  to  activity  just  as  any  other  is  regulated,  by  reference  to 
its  consequences. 


292  HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS 

direct  penalties  imposed  upon  us  by  others,  we  are  made 
to  suffer  more  or  less  by  the  knowledge  that  they  have 
a  low  opinion  of  us,  or  that  we  are  not  "popular"  with 
them.  The  more  enlightened  our  activity,  the  more  we 
shall  see  how  by  sympathy  our  pleasures  are  directly  bound 
up  with  others,  so  that  we  shall  get  more  pleasure  by 
encouraging  that  of  others.  The  same  course  will  also 
indirectly  increase  our  own,  because  others  will  be  hkely 
to  esteem  and  honor  us  just  in  the  degree  in  which  our 
acts  do  conduce  to  their  pleasure.  A  wise  or  enhghtened 
desire  for  our  own  pleasure  will  thus  lead  us  to  regard  the 
pleasures  of  others  in  our  activities. 

Limitations  of  Doctrine. — To  state  the  doctrine  is 
almost  to  criticize  it.  It  comes  practically  to  saying 
that  a  sensible  and  prudent  self-love  will  make  us  pay 
due  heed  to  the  effect  of  our  activities  upon  the  welfare 
of  others.  We  are  to  be  benevolent,  but  the  reason  is 
that  we  get  more  pleasure,  or  get  pleasure  more  surely 
and  easily,  that  way  than  in  any  other.  We  are  to  be 
kind,  because  upon  the  whole  the  net  return  of  pleasure 
is  greater  that  way.  This  does  not  mean  that  Bentham 
denied  the  existence  of  "disinterested  motives"  in  man's 
make-up;  or  that  he  held  that  all  sympathy  is  coldly 
calculating.  On  the  contrary,  he  held  that  sympathetic 
reactions  to  the  well-being  and  suffering  of  others  are  in- 
volved in  our  make-up.  But  as  it  relates  to  motives  for 
action  he  holds  that  the  sympathetic  affections  influ- 
ence us  only  under  the  form  of  desire  for  our  own  pleas- 
ure: they  make  us  rejoice  in  the  rejoicing  of  others,  and 
move  us  to  act  that  others  may  rejoice  so  that  we  may 
thereby  rejoice  the  more.  They  do  not  move  us  to  act 
as  direct  interests  in  the  welfare  of  others  for  their  own 
sake.^     We  shall  find  that  just  as  Mill  transformed  the 

*  Bentham  himself  was  not  a  psychologist,  and  he  does  not  state 
the  doctrine  in  this  extreme  form.  But  those  of  the  Benthamites 
who  were  psychologists,  being  hedonistic  in  their  psychology,  gave 
the  doctrine  this  form. 


HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS  293 

utilitarian  theory  of  motives  by  substituting  quality  of 
happiness  for  quantity  of  pleasures,  so  he  also  transformed 
the  earlier  Benthamite  conception  of  both  the  internal  and 
the  external  methods  for  relating  the  happiness  of  the 
individual  and  the  welfare  of  society. 

II.  Mill's  Criticism. — Mill  charges  Bentham  with  over- 
looking the  motive  in  man  which  makes  him  love  excel- 
lence for  its  own  sake.  "Even  under  the  head  of  sym- 
pathy," he  says: 

"his  recognition  does  not  extend  to  the  more  complex  forms 
of  the  feeling — the  love  of  loving,  the  need  of  a  sympathizing 
support,  or  of  an  object  of  admiration  and  reverence."  ^ 
"Self  culture,  the  training  by  the  human  being  himself  of  his 
affections  and  will  ...  is  a  blank  in  Bentham's  system.  The 
other  and  co-equal  part,  the  regulation  of  his  outward  actions, 
must  be  altogether  halting  and  imperfect  without  the  first; 
for  how  can  we  judge  in  what  manner  many  an  action  will 
affect  the  w^orldly  interests  of  ourselves  or  others  unless  we 
take  in,  as  part  of  the  question,  its  influence  on  the  regulation 
of  our  or  their  affections  and  desires.^"  ^ 

In  other  words,  Mill  saw  that  the  weakness  of  Bentham's 
theory  lay  in  his  supposition  that  the  factors  of  charac- 
ter, the  powers  and  desires  which  make  up  disposition, 
are  of  value  only  as  moving  us  to  seek  pleasure;  to  Mill 
they  have  a  worth  of  their  own  or  are  direct  sources  and 
ingredients  of  happiness.     So  Mill  says: 

"I  regard  any  considerable  increase  of  human  happiness, 
through  mere  changes  in  outward  circumstances,  unaccom- 
panied by  changes  in  the  state  of  desires,  as  hopeless."  ^  And 
in  his  Autobiography  J,  speaking  of  his  first  reaction  against 
Benthamism,  he  says :  "I,  for  the  first  time,  gave  its  proper 
place,  among  the  prime  necessities  of  human  well-being,  to 
the  internal  culture  of  the  individual.  I  ceased  to  attach  al- 
most exclusive  importance  to  the  ordering  of  outward  circum- 

*  Early  Essays,  p.  354.     (Reprint  by  Gibbs,  London,  1897.) 
'  Ibid.,  p.  357. 
'  Ibid.,  p.  404. 


294  HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS 

stances.  .  .  .  The  cultivation  of  the  feelings  became  one  of 
the  cardinal  points  in  my  ethical  and  philosophical  creed."  ^ 

The  Social  Affections  as  Direct  Interest  in  Others. — 
The  importance  of  this  changed  view  lies  in  the  fact  that 
it  compels  us  to  regard  certain  desires,  affections,  and 
motives  as  inherently  worthy,  because  intrinsic  constituent 
factors  of  happiness.  Thus  it  enables  us  to  identify  our 
happiness  with  the  happiness  of  others,  to  find  our  good 
in  their  good,  not  just  to  seek  their  happiness  as,  upon 
the  whole,  the  most  effective  way  of  securing  our  own. 
Our  social  affections  are  direct  interests  in  the  well-being 
of  others;  their  cultivation  and  expression  is  at  one  and 
the  same  time  a  source  of  good  to  ourselves,  and,  intelli- 
gently guided,  to  others.  Taken  in  this  light,  it  is  sym- 
pathetic emotion  and  imagination  which  make  the  stand- 
ard of  general  happiness  not  merely  the  "desirable  end," 
but  the  desired  end,  the  effectively  working  object  of 
endeavor. 

Intrinsic  Motivation  of  Regard  for  Others. — If  it  Is 
asked  why  the  individual  should  thus  regard  the  well- 
being  of  others  as  an  inherent  object  of  desire,  there  is, 
according  to  Mill,  but  one  answer:  We  cannot  think  of 
ourselves  save  as  to  some  extent  social  beings.  Hence  we 
cannot  separate  the  idea  of  ourselves  and  of  our  own 
good  from  our  idea  of  others  and  of  their  good.  The 
natural  sentiment  which  is  the  basis  of  the  utilitarian 
morality,  which  gives  the  idea  of  the  social  good  weight 
with  us,  is  the 

"desire  to  be  in  unity  with  our  fellow  creatures.  .  .  .  The 
social  state  is  at  once  so  natural,  so  necessary,  and  so  habitual 
to  man,  that  except  in  some  unusual  circumstances  or  by  an 
effort  of  voluntary  abstraction,  he  never  conceives  himself 
otherivise  than  as  a  member  of  a  body.  .  .  .  Any  condition, 
therefore,  which  is  essential  to  a  state  of  society  becomes 
more  and  more  an  inseparable  part  of  every  person's  concep- 

*  Autobiography,  London,  1884,  p.  143. 


HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS  295 

tion  of  the  state  of  things  he  is  born  into  and  which  is  the 
destiny  of  a  human  being."  This  strengthening  of  social 
ties  leads  the  individual  "to  identify  his  feelings  more  and 
more  with  the  good"  of  others.  "He  comes,  as  though  in- 
stinctively, to  be  conscious  of  himself  as  a  being,  who,  of 
course,  pays  regard  to  others.  The  good  of  others  becomes 
to  him  a  thing  naturally  and  necessarily  to  be  attended  to, 
like  any  of  the  physical  conditions  of  our  existence."  This 
social  feeling,  finally,  however  weak,  does  not  present  itself 
"as  a  superstition  of  education,  or  a  law  despotically  imposed 
from  without,  but  as  an  attribute  which  it  would  not  be  well 
to  be  without.  .  .  .  Few  but  those  whose  mind  is  a  moral 
blank  could  bear  to  lay  out  their  course  of  life  on  the  line 
of  paying  no  regard  to  others  except  so  far  as  their  own  pri- 
vate interest  compels."  ^ 

The  transformation  is  tremendous.  It  is  no  longer  a 
question  of  acting  for  the  general  interest  because  that 
brings  most  pleasure  or  brings  it  more  surely  and  easily. 
It  is  a  question  of  finding  one's  good  in  the  good  of 
others. 

III.  The  Benthamite  External  Ties  of  Private  and 
General  Interests. — ^Aside  from  sympathy  and  love  of 
peaceful  relations  and  good  repute,  Bentham  relied  upon 
law,  changes  in  political  arrangements,  and  the  play  of 
economic  interests  which  make  it  worth  while  for  the  indi- 
vidual to  seek  his  own  pleasure  in  ways  that  would  also 
conduce  to  the  pleasure  of  others.  Penal  law  can  at 
least  make  it  painful  for  the  individual  to  try  to  get 
his  own  good  in  ways  which  bring  suffering  to  others. 
Civil  legislation  can  at  least  abolish  those  vested  interests 
and  class  privileges  which  inevitably  favor  one  at  the 
expense  of  others,  and  which  make  it  customary  and 
natural  to  seek  and  get  happiness  in  ways  which  disre- 
gard the  happiness  of  others.  In  the  industrial  life  each 
individual  seeks  his  own  advantage  under  such  conditions 
that  he  can  achieve  his  end  only  by  rendering  service  to 

^  Utilitarianism,  eh.  iii.,  passim. 


296  HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS 

others,  that  is,  through  exchange  of  commodities  or 
services.  The  proper  end  of  legislation  is  then  to  make 
political  and  economic  conditions  such  that  the  individual 
while  seeking  his  own  good  will  at  least  not  inflict  suffer- 
ing upon  others,  and  positively,  so  far  as  possible,  will 
promote  their  good/ 

IV.  Mill's  Criticism. — Mill's  criticism  does  not  turn 
upon  the  importance  of  legislation  and  of  social  economic 
arrangements  in  promoting  the  identity  of  individual 
and  general  good.  On  the  contrary,  after  identify- 
ing (in  a  passage  already  quoted,  ante,  p.  286)  the 
ideal  of  utilitarian  morality  with  love  of  neighbor,  he 
goes  on: 

"As  the  means  of  making  the  nearest  approach  to  this  ideal 
utility  would  enj  oin,  first,  that  laws  and  social  arrangements 
should  place  the  happiness  of  every  individual  as  nearly  as 
possible  in  harmony  with  the  interest  of  the  whole;  and, 
secondly,  that  education  and  opinion,  which  have  so  vast  a 
power  over  human  character,  should  so  use  that  power  as  to 
establish  in  the  mind  of  every  individual  an  indissoluble  asso- 
ciation between  his  own  happiness  and  the  good  of  the 
whole." 

The  criticism  turns  upon  the  fact  that  unless  the  intrinsic 
social  idea,  already  discussed,  be  emphasized,  any  associa- 
tion of  private  and  general  happiness  which  law  and  social 
arrangements  can  effect  will  be  external,  more  or  less  arti- 
ficial and  arbitrary,  and  hence  dissoluble  either  by  intel- 
lectual analysis,  or  by  the  intense  prepotency  of  egoistic 
desire. 

Mill's  Transformation. — If,  however,  this  idea  of  inher- 
ent social  ties  and  of  oneself  as  a  social  being  is  pre- 
supposed, the  various  external  agencies  have  something 
internal  to  work  upon;  and  their  effect  is  internal, 
not   external.      Their   effect  is   not   to   establish   a   mere 

*  Some  phases  of  this  view  as  respects  legislation,  etc.,  are  touched 
upon  later  in  ch.  xviii, 


HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS  297 

coincidence  (as  with  Bentham)  between  pleasure  to  oneself 
and  pleasure  to  others,  but  to  protect,  strengthen,  and 
foster  the  sense,  otherwise  intermittent  and  feeble,  of  the 
social  aspects  and  relations  of  one's  own  being.  It  is  for 
this  reason  that  Mill  lays  more  stress  on  education  than 
on  mere  external  institutional  changes,  and,  indeed,  con- 
ceives of  the  ultimate  moral  value  of  the  institutional  ar- 
rangements as  itself  educative.  Their  value  to  him  is 
not  that  they  are  contrivances  or  pieces  of  machinery  for 
making  the  behavior  of  one  conduce  more  or  less  automatic- 
ally to  the  happiness  of  others,  but  that  they  train  and 
exercise  the  individual  in  the  recognition  of  the  social  ele- 
ments of  his  own  character. 

Summary  of  Previous  Discussion. — ^We  have  carried 
on  our  discussion  of  the  relation  between  the  common  good 
as  the  standard  for  measuring  rightness,  and  pleasure 
as  the  end  and  spring  of  the  individual's  activity,  in 
terms  of  Mill's  development  of  Bentham's  utilitarianism. 
But  of  course  our  results  are  general,  and  they  may  be 
detached  not  only  from  this  particular  discussion,  but 
from  the  truth  or  falsity  of  utilitarianism  as  a  technical 
theory.  Put  positively,  our  results  are  these:  (1)  Moral 
quality  is  an  attribute  of  character,  of  dispositions  and 
attitudes  which  express  themselves  in  desires  and  efforts. 
(2)  Those  vattitudes  and  dispositions  are  morally  good 
which  aim  at  the  production,  the  maintenance,  and  devel- 
opment of  ends  in  which  the  agent  and  others  affected 
alike  find  satisfaction.  There  is  no  difference  (such  as 
early  utilitarianism  made)  between  good  as  standard  and 
as  aim,  because  only  a  voluntary  preference  for  and  inter- 
est in  a  social  good  is  capable,  otherwise  than  by  coinci- 
dence or  accident,  of  producing  acts  which  have  common 
good  as  their  result.  Acts  which  are  not  motivated  by  it  as 
aim  cannot  be  trusted  to  secure  it  as  result;  acts  which 
are  motived  by  it  as  a  living  and  habitual  interest  are 
the  guarantee,  so  far  as  conditions  allow,  of  its  realization. 


298  HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS 

Those  who  care  for  the  general  good  for  its  own  sake  are 
those  who  are  surest  of  promoting  it. 

The  Good  Moral  Character.  —  The  genuinely  moral 
person  is  one,  then,  in  whom  the  habit  of  regarding  all 
capacities  and  habits  of  self  from  the  social  standpoint  is 
formed  and  active.  Such  an  one  forms  his  plans,  regu- 
lates his  desires,  and  hence  performs  his  acts  with  refer- 
ence to  the  effect  they  have  upon  the  social  groups  of 
which  he  is  a  part.  He  is  one  whose  dominant  attitudes 
and  interests  are  bound  up  with  associated  activities.  Ac- 
cordingly he  will  find  his  happiness  or  satisfaction  in  the 
promotion  of  these  activities  irrespective  of  the  particular 
pains  and  pleasures  that  accrue. 

Social  Interests  and  Sympathy. — ^A  genuine  social  in- 
terest is  then  something  much  broader  and  deeper  than  an 
instinctive  sympathetic  reaction.  Sympathy  is  a  genu- 
ine natural  instinct,  varying  in  intensity  in  different  indi- 
viduals. It  is  a  precious  instrumentality  for  the  devel- 
opment of  social  insight  and  socialized  affection ;  but  in 
and  of  itself  it  is  upon  the  same  plane  as  any  natural 
endowment.  It  may  lead  to  sentimentality  or  to  selfish- 
ness ;  the  individual  may  shrink  from  scenes  of  misery  just 
because  of  the  pain  they  cause  him,  or  may  seek  jovial 
companions  because  of  the  sympathetic  pleasures  he  gets. 
Or  he  may  be  moved  by  sympathy  to  labor  for  the  good 
of  others,  but,  because  of  lack  of  deliberation  and  thought- 
fulness,  be  quite  ignorant  of  what  their  good  really  is,  and 
do  a  great  deal  of  harm.  One  may  wish  to  do  unto  others 
as  he  would  they  should  do  unto  him,  but  may  err  egre- 
giously  because  his  conception  of  what  is  desirable  for 
himself  is  radically  false ;  or  because  he  assumes  arbitrarily 
that  whatever  he  likes  is  good  for  others,  and  may  thus 
tyrannically  impose  his  own  standards  upon  them.  Again 
instinctive  sympathy  is  partial ;  it  may  attach  itself  vehe- 
mently to  those  of  blood  kin  or  to  immediate  associates 
in  such  a  way  as  to  favor  them  at  the  expense  of  others, 


HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS  299 

and  lead  to  positive  injustice  toward  those  beyond  the 
charmed  circle/ 

Transformation  of  Instinctive  Sympathies. —  It  still 
remains  true  that  the  instinctive  affectionate  reactions  in 
their  various  forms  (parental,  filial,  sexual,  compassionate, 
sympathetic)  are  the  sole  portions  of  the  psychological 
structure  or  mechanism  of  a  man  which  can  be  relied  upon 
to  work  the  identification  of  other's  ends  with  one's  own 
interests.  What  is  required  is  a  blending,  a  fusing  of  the 
sympathetic  tendencies  with  all  the  other  impulsive  and 
habitual  traits  of  the  self.  When  interest  in  power  is 
permeated  with  an  aff^ectionate  impulse,  it  is  protected 
from  being  a  tendency  to  dominate  and  tyrannize;  it  be- 
comes an  interest  in  effectiveness  of  regard  for  common 
ends.  When  an  interest  in  artistic  or  scientific  objects  is 
similarly  fused,  it  loses  the  indifferent  and  coldly  imper- 
sonal character  which  marks  the  specialist  as  such,  and 
becomes  an  interest  in  the  adequate  aesthetic  and  intel- 
lectual development  of  the  conditions  of  a  common  life. 
Sympathy  does  not  merely  associate  one  of  these  tendencies 
mith  another;  still  less  does  it  make  one  a  means  to  the 
other's  end.  It  so  intimately  permeates  them  as  to  trans- 
form them  both  into  a  single  new  and  moral  interest.  This 
same  fusion  protects  sympathy  from  sentimentality  and 
narrowness.  Blended  with  interest  in  power,  in  science, 
in  art,  it  is  liberalized  in  quality  and  broadened  in  range. 
In  short,  the  fusion  of  affectionate  reactions  with  the 
other  dispositions  of  the  self  illuminates,  gives  perspective 
and  body  to  the  former,  while  it  gives  social  quality  and 
direction  to  the  latter.  The  result  of  this  reciprocal  ab- 
sorption is  the  disappearance  of  the  natural  tendencies  in 

*  Mill  in  his  article  on  Bentham  says  of  him:  "Personal  affection,  he 
well  knew,  is  as  liable  to  operate  to  the  injury  of  third  parties,  and 
requires  as  much  to  be  kept  in  check,  as  any  other  feeling  whatever: 
and  general  philanthropy  ...  he  estimated  at  its  true  value  when 
divorced  from  the  feeling  of  duty,  as  the  very  weakest  and  most 
unsteady  of  all  feelings"  (Op.  cit.,  p.  356). 


300  HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS 

their  original  form  and  the  generation  of  moral,  i.e.,  so- 
cialized interests.  It  is  sympathy  transformed  into  a 
habitual  standpoint  which  satisfies  the  demand  for  a  stand- 
point which  will  render  the  person  interested  in  foresight  of 
all  obscure  consequences  (ante,  p.  262). 

I.  Social  Interest  and  the  Happiness  of  the  Agent. — 
We  now  see  what  is  meant  by  a  distinctively  moral  happi- 
ness, and  how  this  happiness  is  supreme  in  quality  as 
compared  with  other  satisfactions,  irrespective  of  superior 
intensity  and  duration  on  the  part  of  the  latter.  It  is 
impossible  to  draw  any  fixed  line  between  the  content  of 
the  moral  good  and  of  natural  satisfaction.  The  end,  the 
right  and  only  right  end,  of  man,  lies  in  the  fullest  and 
freest  realization  of  powers  in  their  appropriate  objects. 
The  good  consists  of  friendship,  family  and  political  rela- 
tions, economic  utilization  of  mechanical  resources,  science, 
art,  m  all  their  complex  and  variegated  forms  and  ele- 
ments. There  is  no  separate  and  rival  moral  good;  no 
separate  empty  and  rival  "good  will." 

Nature  of  Moral  Interest  and  Motivation. — Yet  the  in- 
terest in  the  social  or  the  common  and  progressive  realiza- 
tion of  these  interests  may  properly  be  called  a  distinctive 
moral  interest.  The  degree  of  actual  objective  realiza- 
tion or  achievement  of  these  ends,  depends  upon  circum- 
stances and  accidents  over  which  the  agent  has  little  or 
no  control.  The  more  happily  situated  individual  who 
succeeds  in  realizing  these  ends  more  largely  we  may  call 
more  fortunate;  we  cannot  call  him  morally  better.  The 
interest  in  all  other  interests,  the  voluntary  desire  to  dis- 
cover and  promote  them  within  the  range  of  one's  own 
capacities,  one's  own  material  resources,  and  the  limits 
of  one's  own  surroundings,  is,  however,  under  one's  con- 
trol: it  is  one^s  moral  self.  The  nature  and  exercise  of 
this  interest  constitutes  then  the  distinctively  moral 
quality  in  all  good  purposes.  They  are  morally  good 
not   so    far    as    objectively    accomplished    and   possessed, 


HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS  301 

but  so  far  as  cherished  in  the  dominant  affections  of  the 
person. 

The  Moral  Interest  as  Final  Happiness — Consequently 
the  true  or  final  happiness  of  an  individual,  the  happiness 
which  is  not  at  the  mercy  of  circumstance  and  change  of 
circumstance,  lies  not  in  objective  achievement  of  results, 
but  in  the  supremacy  within  character  of  an  alert,  sincere, 
and  persistent  interest  in  those  habits  and  institutions 
which  forward  common  ends  among  men.  Mill  insisted 
that  quality  of  happiness  was  morally  important,  not 
quantity.  Well,  that  quality  which  is  most  important 
is  the  peace  and  joy  of  mind  that  accompanies  the  abid- 
ing and  equable  maintenance  of  socialized  interests  as 
central  springs  of  action.  To  one  in  whom  these  inter- 
ests live  (and  they  live  to  some  extent  in  every  individual 
not  completely  pathological)  their  exercise  brings  happi- 
ness because  it  fulfills  his  life.  To  those  in  whom  it  is  the 
supreme  interest  it  brings  supreme  or  final  happiness.  It 
is  not  preferred  because  it  is  the  greater  happiness,  but 
in  being  preferred  as  expressing  the  only  kind  of  self 
which  the  agent  fundamentally  wishes  himself  to  be,  it  con- 
stitutes a  kind  of  happiness  with  which  others  cannot  be 
compared.     It  is  unique,  final,  invaluable.^ 

Identity  of  the  Individual  and  General  Happiness. — 
No  algebraic  summing  up  of  sympathetic  pleasures,  utili- 
ties of  friendship,  advantages  of  popularity  and  esteem, 
profits  of  economic  exchange  among  equals,  over  against 
pains  from  legal  penalties  and  disapproving  public  opin- 
ion, and  lack  of  sympathetic  support  by  others,  can  ever 
make  it  even  approximately  certain  that  an  individual's 

*  "It  is  only  a  poor  sort  of  happiness  that  could  ever  come  by  caring 
very  much  about  our  own  narrow  pleasures.  We  can  only  have  the 
highest  happiness,  such  as  goes  along  with  being  a  great  man,  by  hav- 
ing wide  thought  and  much  feeling  for  the  rest  of  the  world  as  well 
as  ourselves;  and  this  sort  of  happiness  often  brings  so  much  pain 
with  it,  that  we  can  only  tell  it  from  pain  by  its  being  what  we  would 
choose  before  everything  else,  because  our  souls  see  it  is  good." — • 
George  Eliot  in  Romola. 


302  HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS 

own  interest,  in  terms  of  quantity  of  pleasures  and  pains, 
is  to  regard  the  interest  of  others/  Such  a  demonstration, 
moreover,  if  possible,  would  not  support  but  would  weaken 
the  moral  life.  It  would  reduce  the  manifestation  of  char- 
acter to  selecting  greater  rather  than  less  amounts  of 
homogeneous  ends.  It  would  degrade  reflection  and  con- 
sideration to  ingenuity  in  detecting  where  larger  quan- 
tities of  pleasures  lie,  and  to  skill  in  performing  sums  of 
addition  and  subtraction.  Even  if  such  a  scheme  could  be 
demonstrated,  every  one  except  the  most  languid  and 
phlegmatic  of  pleasure-seekers  would  reject  a  life  built 
upon  it.  Not  only  the  "good,"  but  the  more  vigorous  and 
hearty  of  the  "bad,"  would  scorn  a  life  in  which  character, 
selfhood,  had  no  significance,  and  where  the  experimental 
discovery  and  testing  of  destiny  had  no  place.  The  iden- 
tity of  individual  and  general  happiness  is  a  moral  matter ; 
it  depends,  that  is,  upon  the  reflective  and  intentional  de- 
velopment of  that  type  of  character  which  identifies  itself 
with  common  ends,  and  which  is  happy  in  these  ends 
just  because  it  has  made  them  its  own. 

2.  Social  Ends  and  the  Happiness  of  Others. — The 
same  principle  holds  of  the  happiness  of  others.  Happiness 
means  the  expression  of  the  active  tendencies  of  a  self 
in  their  appropriate  objects.  Moral  happiness  means  the 
satisfaction  which  comes  when  the  dominant  active  tend- 
encies are  made  interests  in  the  maintenance  and  propaga- 
tion of  the  things  that  make  life  worth  living.  Others,  also, 
can  be  happy  and  should  be  happy  only  upon  the  same 
terms.  Regard  for  the  happiness  of  others  means  regard 
for  those  conditions  and  objects  which  permit  others  freely 
to  exercise  their  own  powers  from  their  own  initiative,  re- 
flection, and  choice.    Regard  for  their  final  happiness  (i.e., 

*  The  recognition  of  this  by  many  utilitarian  hedonists  has  caused 
them  to  have  recourse  to  the  supernaturally  inflicted  penalties  and 
conferred  delights  of  a  future  life  to  make  sure  of  balancing  up 
the  account  of  virtue  as  self-sacrificing  action  with  happiness,  its 
proper  end. 


HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS  303 

for  a  happiness  whose  quality  is  such  that  it  cannot  be 
externally  added  to  or  subtracted  from)  demands  that 
these  others  shall  find  the  controlling  objects  of  prefer- 
ence, resolution,  and  endeavor  in  the  things  that  are  worth 
while. 

3.  Happiness  and  Common  Ends. — For  all  alike,  in 
short,  the  chief  thing  is  the  discovery  and  promotion  of 
those  activities  and  active  relationships  in  which  the  capac- 
ities of  all  concerned  are  effectively  evoked,  exercised,  and 
put  to  the  test.  It  is  difficult  for  a  man  to  attain  a  point 
of  view  from  which  steadily  to  apprehend  how  his  own 
activities  affect  and  modify  those  of  others.  It  is  hard, 
that  is,  to  learn  to  accommodate  one's  ends  to  those  of 
others;  to  adjust,  to  give  way  here,  and  fit  in  there  with 
respect  to  our  aims.  But  difficult  as  this  is,  it  is  easy  com- 
pared with  the  difficulty  of  acting  in  such  a  way  for  ends 
which  are  helpful  to  others  as  will  call  out  and  make  ef- 
fective their  activities. 

Moral  Democracy. — If  the  vice  of  the  criminal,  and  of 
the  coarsely  selfish  man  is  to  disturb  the  aims  and  the  good 
of  others ;  if  the  vice  of  the  ordinary  egoist,  and  of  every 
man,  upon  his  egoistic  side,  is  to  neglect  the  interests  of 
others;  the  vice  of  the  social  leader,  of  the  reformer,  of 
the  philanthropist  and  the  specialist  in  every  worthy  cause 
of  science,  or  art,  or  politics,  is  to  seek  ends  which  pro- 
mote the  social  welfare  in  ways  which  fail  to  engage  the 
active  interest  and  cooperation  of  others.^  The  conception 
of  conferring  the  good  upon  others,  or  at  least  of  attain- 
ing it  for  them,  which  is  our  inheritance  from  the  aris- 
tocratic civilization  of  the  past,  is  so  deeply  embodied 
in  religious,  political,  and  charitable  institutions  and  in 
moral  teachings,  that  it  dies  hard.  Many  a  man,  feeling 
himself  justified  by  the  social  character  of  his  ultimate  aim 

*  The  recognition  of  this  type  of  spiritual  selfishness  is  modern. 
It  is  the  pivot  upon  which  the  later  (especially)  of  Ibsen's  tragedies 
turn. 


304  HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS 

(it  may  be  economic,  or  educational,  or  political),  is 
genuinely  confused  or  exasperated  by  the  increasing  an- 
tagonism and  resentment  which  he  evokes,  because  he  has 
not  enlisted  in  his  pursuit  of  the  "common"  end  the  freely 
cooperative  activities  of  others.  This  cooperation  must  be 
the  root  principle  of  the  morals  of  democracy.  It  must  be, 
however,  confessed  that  it  has  as  yet  made  little  progress. 
Our  traditional  conceptions  of  the  morally  great  man, 
the  moral  hero  and  leader,  the  exceptionally  good  social 
and  political  character,  all  work  against  the  recognition 
of  this  principle  either  in  practice  or  theory.  They  foster 
the  notion  that  it  is  somebody's  particular  business  to  reach 
by  his  more  or  less  isolated  efforts  (with  "following,"  or 
obedience,  or  unreflective  subordination  on  the  part  of 
others)  a  needed  social  good.  Some  genius  is  to  lead  the 
way;  others  are  to  adopt  and  imitate.  Moreover,  the 
method  of  awakening  and  enlisting  the  activities  of  all 
concerned  in  pursuit  of  the  end  seems  slow;  it  seems  to 
postpone  accomplishment  indefinitely.  But  in  truth  a 
common  end  which  is  not  made  such  by  common,  free  vol- 
untary cooperation  in  process  of  achievement  is  such  in 
name  only.  It  has  no  support  and  guarantee  in  the  ac- 
tivities which  it  is  supposed  to  benefit,  because  it  is  not  the 
fruit  of  those  activities.  Hence,  it  does  not  stay  put. 
It  has  to  be  continually  buttressed  by  appeal  to  external, 
not  voluntary,  considerations;  bribes  of  pleasure,  threats 
of  harm,  use  of  force.  It  has  to  be  undone  and  done  over. 
There  is  no  way  to  escape  or  evade  this  law  of  happiness, 
that  it  resides  in  the  exercise  of  the  active  capacities  of 
a  voluntary  agent;  and  hence  no  way  to  escape  or  evade 
the  law  of  a  common  happiness,  that  it  must  reside  in 
the  congruous  exercise  of  the  voluntary  activities  of  all 
concerned.  The  inherent  irony  and  tragedy  of  much 
that  passes  for  a  high  kind  of  socialized  activity  is  pre- 
cisely that  it  seeks  a  common  good  by  methods  which  for- 
bid its  being  either  common  or  a  good. 


HAPPINESS  AND  SOCIAL  ENDS  305 


LITERATURE 

See  references  upon  utilitarianism  at  end  of  eh.  xiv.  For  happi- 
ness, see  Aristotle,  Ethics,  Book  I.,  and  Book  X.,  chs.  vi.-ix.;  Dickin- 
son, The  Meaning  of  Good;  Paulsen,  Sy stern  of  Ethics,  pp.  268-286; 
Rickaby,  Aquinas  Ethicus,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  6-39;  Mezes,  Ethics,  ch.  xv.; 
Santayana,  The  Life  of  Reason;  Rashdall,  The  Theory  of  Good  and 
Evil 

The  following  histories  of  utilitarianism  bring  out  the  social  side 
of  the  utilitarian  theory:  Albee,  History  of  Utilitarianism;  Stephen, 
The  English  Utilitarians;  Hal^vy,  La  Formation  du  Badicalisme 
Philosophique,  especially  Vols.  I.  and  II. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  THE  MORAL  LIFE; 
MORAL  KNOWLEDGE 

§  1.    PROBI.EM  OF   REASON  AND   DESIRE 

Intelligence  and  Reason  in  a  Moral  Act. — ^A  volun- 
tary act  is  one  which  involves  intention,  purpose,  and  thus 
some  degree  of  deliberateness.  It  is  this  trait  which  marks 
off  the  voluntary  act  from  a  purely  unconscious  one  (like 
that  of  a  machine)  and  from  one  which  yields  to  the  su- 
perior urgency  of  present  feeling,  one  which  is  pushed  on 
from  behind,  as  an  instinctive  or  impulsive  act,  instead 
of  being  called  out  by  some  possibility  ahead.  This  factor 
of  forethought  and  of  preference  after  comparison  for 
some  one  of  the  ends  considered,  is  the  factor  of  intelligence 
involved  in  every  voluntary  act.  To  be  intelligent  in  ac- 
tion is,  however,  a  far-reaching  affair.  To  know  what  one 
is  really  about  is  a  large  and  difficult  order  to  fill ;  so  large 
and  difficult  that  it  is  the  heart  of  morality.^  The  rele- 
vant bearings  of  any  act  are  subtler  and  larger  than  those 
which  can  be  foreseen  and  than  those  which  will  be  unless 
special  care  is  taken.  The  tendencies  which  strongly  move 
one  to  a  certain  act  are  often  exactly  those  which  tend 
to  prevent  one's  seeing  the  effect  of  the  act  upon  his  own 
habits  and  upon  the  well-being  of  others.  The  internal 
forces  and  the  external  circumstance  which  evoke  the  idea 

*  "Any  one  can  be  angry:  that  is  quite  easy.  Any  one  can  give 
money  away  or  spend  it.  But  to  do  these  things  to  the  right  person, 
to  the  right  amount,  at  the  right  time,  with  the  right  aim  and  in  the 
right  manner — this  is  not  what  any  one  can  easily  do." — Aristotle, 
Ethics,  Book  II.,  eh.  ix. 

806 


PROBLEM  OF  REASON  AND  DESIRE      307 

of  an  end  and  of  the  means  of  attaining  it  are  frequently 
also  those  which  deflect  intelligence  to  a  narrow  and  par- 
tial view.  The  demand  for  a  standard  by  which  to  regu- 
late judgment  of  ends  is  thus  the  demand  not  only  for  in- 
telligence, but  for  a  certain  kind  of  intelligence. 

In  short,  a  truly  moral  (or  right)  act  is  one  which  is 
intelligent  in  an  emphatic  and  peculiar  sense;  it  is  a  rea- 
sonable act.  It  is  not  merely  one  which  is  thought  of,  and 
thought  of  as  good,  at  the  moment  of  action,  but  one  which 
will  continue  to  be  thought  of  as  "good"  in  the  most  alert 
and  persistent  reflection.^  For  by  "reasonable"  action  we 
mean  such  action  as  recognizes  and  observes  all  the  neces- 
sary conditions ;  action  in  which  impulse,  instinct,  incli- 
nation, habit,  opinion,  prejudice  (as  the  case  may  be)  are 
moderated,  guided,  and  determined  by  considerations 
which  lie  outside  of  and  beyond  them.  Not  merely  to  form 
ends  and  select  means,  but  to  judge  the  worth  of  these 
means  and  ends  by  a  standard,  is  then  the  distinctive  prov- 
ince of  reason  in  morals.  Its  outcome  is  moral  knowledge; 
that  is  judgments  of  right  and  wrong,  both  in  general, 
and  in  the  particular  and  perplexing  cases  as  they  arise. 
This  is  the  topic  of  the  present  chapter. 

Typical  Problems. — The  problem  of  moral  knowledge  is 
in  its  general  form :  Is  there  a  distinct  and  separate  faculty 
of  moral  reason  and  knowledge,  or  is  there  but  one  power 
of  judgment  which  varies  with  its  object?  The  former 
view  is  the  intuitional  (from  Latin,  intueor:  to  look  at)  ; 
it  is  associated  with  theories,  which,  like  the  Kantian,  em- 
phasize attitudes,  not  results  and  intentions ;  while  the  view 
which  holds  that  there  is  but  one  form  of  thought  which, 
in  morals,  concerns  itself  with  results,  and  with  their  asso- 
ciation with  the  present  aim,  Is  the  empirical.  There 
are  two  especial  dlfl^cultles  which  lead  to  the  upholding  of 
the  Intuitional  point  of  view,  difficulties  which  any  theory 
of  moral  knowledge  has  to  meet.     They  are  (I)  The  Rela- 

*  Compare  the  sentence  quoted  on  p.  268  from  Hazlitt. 


PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

tion  of  Desire  and  Reason,  and   (II)  the  Knowledge  of 
Private  and  General  Good. 

1.  Desire  and  Reason. — Ordinary  knowledge  in  prac- 
tical matters  follows  the  line  set  by  desire.  Hunger  makes 
us  think  of  food  and  of  how  to  get  it;  sociable  desire,  of 
friends,  and  how  to  secure  their  companionship,  and  so  on. 
Now  a  surging  mass  of  desires,  vehement  and  bulky,  may 
concentrate  itself  upon  the  idea  of  any  end ;  and  as  soon  as 
it  does  so,  it  tends  to  shut  out  wider  considerations.  As 
we  have  just  seen,  it  is  the  object  of  reason  to  give  us  a 
calm,  objective,  broad,  and  general  survey  of  the  field. 
Desires  work  against  this,  and  unless  (so  runs  the  argu- 
ment )  there  is  a  faculty  which  works  wholly  independent  of 
desires,  as  our  ordinary  practical  knowledge  does  not,  it 
is  absurd  to  suppose  there  can  be  a  rational  principle  which 
will  correct  and  curb  desire. 

2.  Private  and  General  Good. — Since  the  wide  and 
permanent  good  is  social,  it  is  urged  that  unless  we 
have  an  independent  faculty  of  moral  knowledge,  our  judg- 
ment will  be  subservient  to  the  ends  of  private  desire,  and 
hence  will  not  place  itself  at  the  public  point  of  view.  Or, 
if  it  does  so,  it  will  be  simply  as  a  matter  of  expediency 
to  calculate  better  the  means  for  getting  our  own  pleasure. 
In  general,  it  is  urged  that  only  a  faculty  of  knowledge 
completely  independent  of  personal  wishes,  habits,  pur- 
poses can  secure  judgments  possessing  inherent  dignity 
and  authoritativeness ;  since  these  require  an  elevated, 
impartial,  universal,  and  necessary  point  of  view.  We  shall 
in  the  sequel  attempt  to  show  that  this  view  of  knowledge 
results  from  the  false  conception  of  desire  as  having  pleas- 
ure for  its  object,  and  from  a  false  conception  of  the  rela- 
tion of  intent  and  motive.  When  these  errors  are  cor- 
rected, there  is  no  ground  to  assume  any  special  faculty  of 
moral  intelligence,  save  as  the  one  capacity  of  thought  is 
specialized  into  a  particular  mental  habit  by  being  con- 
stantly occupied  in  judging  values.    We  shall  try  to  show 


KANT'S  THEORY  OF  PRACTICAL  REASON    309 

that  the  broad  and  pubhc  point  of  view  is  secured  by  fusion 
of  impulses  with  sympathetic  affections.  We  shall  begin 
with  stating  and  criticizing  the  views  of  Kant,  who  up- 
holds the  doctrine  of  a  separate  independent  Moral  Reason 
in  its  most  extreme  form. 


§  2.    K  A  NT's    THEOEY   OF    PRACTICAL    REASON 

Kant  is  at  one  with  the  hedonist  as  regards  the  natural 
object  of  desire  ;  it  is  pleasure.  All  purposes  and  ends  that 
spring  from  inclination  and  natural  tendency  come  under 
one  head :  self-love.  Hence,  the  ordinary  use  of  intelligence 
is  confined  to  the  matter  of  passing  upon  what  constitutes 
the  individual's  private  happiness  and  how  he  shall  secure 
it.  There  are  then  fundamental  contrasts  between  ordi- 
nary practical  activity  and  genuinely  moral  activity, 
contrasts  which  reflect  themselves  in  the  theory  of  the  na- 
ture and  function  of  moral  knowledge.  ( 1 )  The  moral  end 
is  unqualified^  absolute,  categorical.  It  is  not  something 
which  we  can  pick  or  leave  at  our  option.  Morality  is  the 
region  of  final  ends,  ends  not  to  be  disputed  or  questioned ; 
and  reason  must  set  forth  such  final  ends.  Since,  however, 
happiness  is  not  a  morally  necessary  end,  intelligence  in  its 
behalf  can  only  give  hypothetical  counsel  and  advice:  if 
you  would  be  happy,  or  happy  in  this,  or  that  way,  then 
take  such  and  such  measures.  Reason  which  promulgates 
ends  must  be  of  a  different  sort  from  the  intelligence  which 
simply  searches  for  means. 

(2)  Morality  is  not  qualified,  but  certain  in  its  require- 
ments. The  most  inexperienced,  the  humblest,  the  one 
most  restricted  in  his  circumstances  and  opportunities, 
must  know  what  is  morally  required  as  surely  as  the 
wisest  and  most  educated.  Hence  moral  reason  must  utter 
its  precepts  clearly  and  unambiguously.  But  no  one  can  be 
S2ire  what  happiness  is,  or  whether  a  given  act  will  bring 
joy  or  sorrow.     "The  problem  of  determining  certainly 


310     PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

what  action  would  promote  the  happiness  of  a  rational 
being  is  insoluble."  (Abbott's  Kant,  p.  36.)  The  demand 
for  certainty  of  precepts  in  moral  matters  also  requires 
a  special  faculty. 

(3)  Morality,  which  is  inexorable  and  certain  in  its  de- 
mands, is  also  universal  in  its  requirements.  Its  laws  are 
the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever,  the  same  for  one 
as  for  another.  Now  happiness  notoriously  varies  with  the 
condition  and  circumstances  of  a  person,  as  well  as  with 
the  conditions  of  different  peoples  and  epochs.  Intelli- 
gence with  reference  to  happiness  can  only  give  counsel, 
not  even  rules,  so  variable  is  happiness.  It  can  only  advise 
that  upon  the  average,  under  certain  conditions,  a  given 
course  of  action  has  usually  promoted  happiness.  When 
we  add  that  the  commands  of  morality  are  also  universal 
with  respect  to  the  different  inclinations  of  different  indi- 
viduals, we  are  made  emphatically  aware  of  the  necessity  of 
a  rational  standpoint,  which  in  its  impartiality  totally 
transcends  the  ends  and  plans  that  grow  out  of  the  or- 
dinary experience  of  an  individual. 

An  A  Priori  Reason  Kant's  Solution. — The  net  out- 
come is  that  only  a  reason  which  is  separate  and  independ- 
ent of  all  experience  is  capable  of  meeting  the  require- 
ments of  morality.  What  smacks  in  its  origin  and  aim 
of  experience  is  tainted  with  self-love;  is  partial,  tempo- 
rary, uncertain,  and  relative  or  dependent.  The  moral  law 
is  unqualified,  necessary,  and  universal.  Hence  we  have  to 
recognize  in  man  as  a  moral  being  a  faculty  of  reason 
which  expresses  itself  in  the  law  of  conduct  a  priori  to  all 
experience  of  desire,  pleasure,  and  pain.  Besides  his  sen- 
suous nature  (with  respect  to  which  knowledge  is  bound 
up  with  appetite)  man  has  a  purely  rational  nature,  which 
manifests  itself  in  the  consciousness  of  the  absolute  author- 
ity of  universal  law.^ 

*  This  means  Duty.  This  phase  will  be  discussed  in  the  next 
chapter. 


KANT'S  THEORY  OF  PRACTICAL  REASON    311 

Formal  Character  of  Such  Reason. — This  extreme  sep- 
aration of  reason  from  experience  brings  with  it,  however, 
a  serious  problem.  We  shall  first  state  this  problem;  and 
then  show  that  its  artificial  and  insoluble  character  serves 
as  a  refutation  of  Kant's  theory  of  a  transcendental, 
or  wholly  non-natural  and  non-empirical,  mode  of  knowl- 
edge. Reason  which  is  wholly  independent  of  experience 
of  desires  and  their  results  is,  as  Kant  expressly  declares, 
purely  formal.  (Abbott's  Kant,  p.  33;  p.  114.)  That  is 
to  say,  it  is  empty;  it  does  not  point  out  or  indicate  any- 
thing particular  to  be  done.  It  cannot  say  be  industrious, 
or  prudent,  generous  ;  give,  or  refrain  from  giving,  so  much 
money  to  this  particular  man  at  this  particular  time  under 
just  these  circumstances.  All  it  says  is  that  morality  is 
rational  and  requires  man  to  follow  the  law  of  reason.  But 
the  law  of  reason  is  just  that  a  man  should  follow  the  law 
of  reason.  And  to  the  inevitable  inquiry  "What  then  is  the 
law  of  reason.'*"  the  answer  still  is:  To  follow  the  law  of 
reason.  How  do  we  break  out  of  this  empty  circle  into 
specific  knowledge  of  the  specific  right  things  to  be  done.'' 
Kant  has  an  answer,  which  we  shall  now  consider. 

Kant's  Method. — He  proceeds  as  follows:  The  law  is 
indeed  purely  formal  or  empty  (since,  once  more,  all  spe- 
cific ends  are  "empirical"  and  changeable),  but  it  is  so 
because  it  is  universal.  Now  nothing  which  is  universal  can 
contradict  itself.  All  we  need  to  do  is  to  take  any  pro- 
posed principle  of  any  act  and  ask  ourselves  whether  it 
can  be  universalized  without  self-inconsistency.  If  it  can- 
not be,  the  act  is  wrong.  If  it  can  be,  the  act  is  right. 
For  example: 

"May  I,  when  in  distress,  make  a  promise  with  the  intention 
not  to  keep  it  ?  .  .  .  The  shortest  way,  and  an  unerring  one  to 
discover  the  answer  to  the  question  whether  a  lying  promise 
is  consistent  with  duty,  is  to  ask  myself,  Should  I  be  con- 
tent that  my  maxim  (to  extricate  myself  from  trouble  by  a 
false  promise)  should  hold  good  as  a  universal  law,  for  my- 
self as  well  as  for  others?     And  should  I  be  able  to  say  to 


312     PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

myself,  every  one  may  make  a  deceitful  promise  when  he  finds 
himself  in  a  difficulty  from  which  he  cannot  otherwise  extri- 
cate himself?  Then  I  personally  become  aware  that  while  I 
can  will  the  lie,  I  can  by  no  means  will  that  lying  should 
be  a  universal  law.  For  with  such  a  law  there  would  be  no 
such  thing  as  a  promise.  No  one  should  have  any  faith  in 
the  proffered  intention,  or,  if  they  do  so  over  hastily,  would 
pay  one  back  in  one's  own  coin  at  the  first  opportunity"  {Op. 
cit,  p.  19). 

The  principle  if  made  universal  simply  contradicts  itself, 
and  thus  reveals  that  it  is  no  principle  at  all,  not  rational. 
Summing  this  up  in  a  formula,  we  get  as  our  standard  of 
right  action  the  principle:  "Act  as  if  the  maxim  of  thy 
action  were  to  become  by  thy  will  a  universal  law  of  na- 
ture" (Op.  cit.,  p.  39). 

The  procedure  thus  indicated  seems  simple.  As  long  as 
an  individual  considers  the  purpose  or  motive  of  his  action 
as  if  it  were  merely  a  matter  of  that  one  deed ;  as  if  it  were 
an  isolated  thing,  there  is  no  rationality,  no  consciousness 
of  moral  law  or  principle.  But  let  the  individual  imagine 
himself  gifted  with  such  power  that,  if  he  acts,  the  motive 
of  his  act  will  become  a  fixed,  a  regular  law  in  the  constitu- 
tion of  things.  Would  he,  as  a  rational  being,  be  willing  to 
bring  about  such  a  universalization, — can  he,  with  equa- 
nimity as  a  reasonable  being,  contemplate  such  an  outcome? 
If  he  can,  the  act  is  right;  if  not  (as  in  the  case  of  mak- 
ing a  lying  promise),  wrong. 

No  sensible  person  would  question  the  instructiveness  of 
this  scheme  in  the  concrete.  It  indicates  that  the  value  of 
reason — of  abstraction  and  generalization — in  conduct  is 
to  help  us  escape  from  the  partiality  that  flows  from  desire 
and  emotion  in  their  first  and  superficial  manifestations, 
and  to  attain  a  more  unified  and  permanent  end.  As  a 
method  (though  not  the  only  one)  of  realizing  the  full 
meaning  of  a  proposed  course  of  action,  nothing  could  be 
better  than  asking  ourselves  how  we  should  like  to  be 
committed  forever  to  its   principle;  how  we   should  like 


KANT'S  THEORY  OF  PRACTICAL  REASON    313 

to  have  others  committed  to  it  and  to  treat  us  according 
to  it?  Such  a  method  is  well  calculated  to  make  us  face 
our  proposed  end  in  its  impartial  consequences ;  to  teach  the 
danger  of  cherishing  merely  those  results  which  are  most 
congenial  to  our  passing  whim  and  our  narrow  concep- 
tion of  personal  profit.  In  short,  by  generalizing  a  pur- 
pose we  make  its  general  character  evident. 

But  this  method  does  not  proceed  (as  Kant  would  have 
it)  from  a  mere  consideration  of  moral  law  apart  from  a 
concrete  end,  hut  from  an  end  in  so  far  as  it  persistently 
approves  itself  to  reflection  after  an  adequate  survey  of 
it  in  all  its  hearings.  It  is  the  possibility  of  generalizing 
the  concrete  end  that  Kant  falls  back  upon. 

Other  illustrations  which  Kant  offers  enforce  the  same 
lesson.     He  suggests  the  following: 

(1)  A  man  in  despair  from  misfortune  considers  suicide. 
"Now  he  inquires  whether  the  maxim  of  his  action  could^  be- 
come a  universal  law  of  nature."  We  see  at  once  that  a 
system  of  nature  by  which  it  should  be  a  law  to  destroy  life 
by  means  of  the  very  feeling — self-love — whose  nature  it  is 
to  impel  to  the  maintenance  of  life,  would  contradict  itself 
and  therefore  could  not  exist. 

(2)  A  man  who  has  a  certain  talent  is  tempted  from  slug- 
gishness and  love  of  amusement  not  to  cultivate  it.  But  if  he 
applies  the  principle  he  sees  that,  while  a  system  of  nature 
might  subsist  if  his  motive  became  a  law  (so  that  all  people 
devoted  their  lives  to  idleness  and  amusement),  yet  he  cannot 
will  that  such  a  system  should  receive  absolute  realization. 
As  a  rational  being  he  necessarily  also  wills  that  facul- 
ties be  developed  since  they  serve  for  all  sorts  of  possible 
purposes. 

(3)  A  prosperous  man,  who  sees  some  one  else  to  be 
wretched,  is  tempted  to  pay  no  attention  to  it,  alleging  that 
it  is  no  concern  of  his.  Now,  if  this  attitude  were  made  a 
universal  law  of  nature,  the  human  race  might  subsist  and 
even  get  on  after  a  fashion;  but  it  is  impossible  to  will  that 
such  a  principle  should  have  the  validity  of  a  law  of  nature. 
Such  a  will  would  contradict  itself,  for  many  cases  would 
occur  in  which  the  one  willing  would  need  the  love  and 
sympathy  of  others;  he  could  not  then  without  contradicting 


314      PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

himself  wish  that  selfish  disregard  should  become  a  regular,  a 
fixed  uniformity. 

The  Social  End  is  the  Rational  End. — These  illustra- 
tions make  it  clear  that  the  "contradiction"  Kant  really 
depends  upon  to  reveal  the  wrongness  of  acts,  is  the  intro- 
duction of  friction  and  disorder  among  the  various  concrete 
ends  of  the  individual.  He  insists  especially  that  the  social 
relations  of  an  act  bring  out  its  general  purport.  A 
right  end  is  one  which  can  be  projected  harmoniously 
into  the  widest  and  broadest  survey  of  life  which  the 
individual  can  make.  A  "system  of  nature"  or  of  conduct 
in  which  love  of  Hfe  should  lead  to  its  own  destruction 
certainly  contradicts  itself.  A  course  of  action  which 
should  include  all  the  tendencies  that  make  for  amuse- 
ment and  sluggishness  would  be  inconsistent  with  a  scheme 
of  life  which  would  take  account  of  other  tendencies — such 
as  interest  in  science,  in  music,  in  friendship,  in  business 
achievement,  which  are  just  as  real  constituents  of  the 
individual,  although  perhaps  not  so  strongly  felt  at  the 
moment.  A  totally  callous  and  cruel  mode  of  procedure 
certainly  "contradicts"  a  course  of  life  in  which  every 
individual  is  so  placed  as  to  be  dependent  upon  the  sym- 
pathy and  upon  the  help  of  others.  It  is  the  province 
of  reason  to  call  up  a  sufficiently  wide  view  of  the  con- 
sequences of  an  intention  as  to  enable  us  to  realize  such 
inconsistencies  and  contradictions  if  they  exist;  to  put 
before  us,  not  through  any  logical  manipulation  of  the 
principle  of  contradiction,  but  through  memory  and  imag- 
ination a  particular  act,  proposal,  or  suggestion  as  a  por- 
tion of  a  connected  whole  of  life;  to  make  real  to  us  that 
no  man,  no  act,  and  no  satisfaction  of  any  man,  falls  or 
stands  to  itself,  but  that  it  affects  and  is  affected  by  others. 
Our  conclusion  is :  the  right  as  the  rational  good  means 
that  which  is  harmonious  with  all  the  capacities  and  desires 
of  the  self,  that  which  expands  them  into  a  cooperative 
whole. 


KANT'S  THEORY  OF  PRACTICAL  REASON    Sl5 

Kant's  Introduction  of  Social  Factors. — The  further 
development  which  Kant  gives  the  formula  already  quoted 
(p.  312)  goes  far  to  remove  the  appearance  of  opposition 
between  the  utilitarian  social  standard  and  his  own  ab- 
stract rationalism.  Kant  points  out  that  according  to 
his  view  the  moral  or  rational  will  is  its  own  end.  Hence 
every  rational  person  is  always  an  end,  never  a  means: — 
this,  indeed,  is  what  we  mean  by  a  person.  But  every  nor- 
mal human  being  is  a  rational  person.  Consequently 
another  formula  for  his  maxim  is:  "So  act  as  to  treat 
humanity,  whether  in  thine  own  person  or  in  that  of  any 
other,  as  an  end,  never  as  a  means  merely."  The  man  who 
contemplates  suicide  "uses  a  person  merely  as  a  means  to 
maintaining  a  tolerable  condition  of  life."  He  who  would 
make  a  lying  promise  to  another  makes  that  other  one 
merely  a  means  to  his  profit,  etc.  Moreover,  since  all  per- 
sons are  equally  ends  in  themselves  and  are  to  be  equally 
regarded  in  behavior,  we  may  say  the  standard  of  right  is 
the  notion  of  a  "Kingdom  of  Ends" — the  idea  of  "the  union 
of  different  rational  beings  in  a  system  by  common  laws."  ^ 

These  propositions  are  rather  formal,  but  the  moment 
we  put  definite  meaning  into  them,  they  suggest  that  the 
good  for  any  man  is  that  in  which  the  welfare  of  others 
counts  as  much  as  his  own.  The  right  is  that  action 
which,  so  far  as  in  it  lies,  combines  into  a  whole  of  common 
interests  and  purposes  the  otherwise  conflicting  aims  and 
interests  of  different  persons.  So  interpreted,  the  Kantian 
formula  differs  in  words,  rather  than  in  idea,  from  Ben- 
tham's  happiness  of  all  concerned  "each  counting  for  one 
and  only  one";  from  Mill's  statement  that  the  "deeply 
rooted  conception  which  every  individual  even  now  has  of 
himself  as  a  social  being  tends  to  make  him  feel  it  as  one 
of  his  natural  wants,  that  there  should  be  harmony  between 
his  feelings  and  aims  and  those  of  his  fellow  creatures." 

^  Kanfs  Theory  of  Ethics,  trans,  by  Abbott,  pp.  47-51. 


316     PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

In  all  of  these  formulae  we  find  re-statements  of  our  con- 
ception that  the  good  is  the  activities  in  which  all  men 
participate  so  that  the  powers  of  each  are  called  out,  put 
to  use,  and  reenforced. 

Consequent  Transformation  of  Theory  of  Reason. — 
Now  if  the  common  good,  in  the  form  of  a  society  of  indi- 
viduals, as  a  kingdom  of  ends,  is  the  object  with  reference 
to  which  the  ends  of  desire  have  to  be  rationalized,  Kant's 
theory  of  an  a  priori  and  empty  Reason  is  completely  made 
over.  In  strict  logic  Kant  contradicts  himself  when  he 
says  that  we  are  to  generalize  the  end  of  desire,  so  as  to 
see  whether  it  could  become  a  universal  law.  For  accord- 
ing to  him  no  end  of  desire  (since  it  is  private  and  a 
form  of  self-love)  can  possibly  he  generalized.  He  is  set- 
ting up  as  a  method  of  enlightenment  precisely  the  very 
impossibility  (impossible,  that  is,  on  his  own  theory  that 
private  happiness  is  the  end  of  desire)  which  made  him 
first  resort  to  his  a  priori  and  transcendental  reason.'*  No 
more  complete  contradiction  can  be  imagined. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  we  neglect  the  concrete,  empir- 
ical conditions  and  consequences  of  the  object  of  desire, 
there  is  no  motive  whatsoever  that  may  not  be  generalized. 
There  is  no  formal  contradiction  in  acting  always  on  a 
motive  of  theft,  unchastity,  or  insolence.  All  that  Kant's 
method  can  require,  in  strict  logic,  is  that  the  individual 
always,  under  similar  circumstances,  act  from  the  same  mo- 
tive. Be  willing  to  be  always  dishonest,  or  impure,  or  proud 
in  your  intent;  achieve  consistency  in  the  badness  of  your 
motives,  and  you  will  be  good !  Doubtless  no  one,  not  even 
the  worst  man,  would  be  willing  to  be  universally  consist- 
ent in  his  badness.  But  this  is  not  in  the  least  a  matter 
of  a  purely  formal,  logical  inconsistency  of  the  motive 
with  itself  ;^  it  is  due  rather  to  that  conflict  among  diverse 

*  In  last  analysis  Kant  is  trying  to  derive  moral  enlightenment 
from  the  most  abstract  principle  of  formal  logic,  the  principle  of 
Identity,  that  A  is  A! 


MORAL  SENSE  INTUITIONALISM         317 

desires,  and  different  objects  for  which  one  strives,  which 
makes  him  aware  that  at  some  time  he  should  want  to  act 
kindly  and  fairly. 

Organization  of  Desires  from  the  Social  Standpoint. — 
What  Kant  is  really  insisting  upon  at  bottom  is,  then,  the 
demand  for  such  a  revision  of  desire  as  it  casually  and 
unreflectively  presents  itself  as  would  make  the  desire  a 
consistent  expression  of  the  whole  body  of  the  purposes  of 
the  self.  What  he  demands  is  that  a  desire  shall  not  be 
accepted  as  an  adequate  motive  till  it  has  been  organized 
into  desire  for  an  end  which  will  be  compatible  with  the 
whole  system  of  ends  involved  in  the  capacities  and  tend- 
encies of  the  agent.  This  is  true  rationalization.  And 
he  further  warns  us  that  only  when  a  particular  desire 
has  in  view  a  good  which  is  social  will  it  meet  this  re- 
quirement. This  brings  us  to  our  next  problem.  Just 
what  is  the  process  by  which  we  judge  of  the  worth  of  par- 
ticular proposals,  plans,  courses  of  actions,  desires.? 
Granted-  that  a  generalized  good,  a  socialized  happiness, 
is  the  point  of  view  at  which  we  must  plaoie  ourselves  to 
secure  the  reasonable  point  of  view,  how  does  this  point  of 
view  become  an  operative  method.? 

§  3.    MORAL    SENSE    INTUITIONALISM 

So  far,  our  conclusions  are  (1)  that  the  province  of 
reason  is  to  enable  us  to  generalize  our  concrete  ends ;  to 
form  such  ends  as  are  consistent  with  one  another,  and 
reenforce  one  another,  introducing  continuity  and  force, 
where  otherwise  there  would  be  division  and  weakness ;  and 
(2)  that  only  social  ends  are  ultimately  reasonable,  since 
they  alone  permit  us  to  organize  our  acts  into  consistent 
wholes.  We  have  now,  however,  to  consider  how  this  con- 
ception takes  effect  in  detail ;  how  it  is  employed  to  deter- 
mine the  right  or  the  reasonable  in  a  given  situation.  We 
shall  approach  this  problem  by  considering  a  form  of  in- 


318      PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

tuitionalism  historically  prior  to  that  of  Kant.  This  em- 
phasizes the  direct  character  of  moral  knowledge  in  par- 
ticular cases,  and  assimilates  moral  knowledge  to  the 
analogy  of  sense  perception,  which  also  deals  directly  with 
specific  objects;  it  insists,  however,  that  a  different  kind 
of  faculty  of  knowledge  operates  in  the  knowledge  of  acts 
from  that  which  operates  in  the  knowledge  of  things.  Our 
underlying  aim  here  is  to  bring  out  the  relation  of  imme- 
diate appreciation  to  deliberate  reflection,  with  a  view  to 
showing  that  the  reasonable  standpoint,  that  of  the  com- 
mon good,  becomes  effective  through  the  socialized  atti- 
tudes and  emotions  of  a  person's  own  character. 

Moral  Sense. — This  theory  holds  that  rightness  is  an 
intrinsic,  absolute  quality  of  special  acts,  and  as  such  is 
immediately  known  or  recognized  for  what  it  is.  Just  as 
a  white  color  is  known  as  white,  a  high  tone  as  high,  a 
hard  body  as  existent,  etc.,  so  an  act  which  is  right  is 
known  as  right.  In  each  case,  the  quality  and  the  fact  are 
so  intimately  and  inherently  bound  together  that  it  is  ab- 
surd to  think  of  one  and  not  know  the  other.  As  a  theory 
of  moral  judgment,  intuitionalism  is  thus  opposed  to  utili- 
tarianism, which  holds  that  rightness  is  not  an  inherent 
quality  but  one  relative  to  and  borrowed  from  external 
and  more  or  less  remote  consequences.  While  some 
forms  of  intuitionalism  hold  that  this  moral  quality  be- 
longs to  general  rules  or  to  classes  of  ends,  the  form  we 
are  now  to  consider  holds  that  the  moral  quality  of  an 
individual  act  cannot  be  borrowed  even  from  a  moral  law, 
but  shines  forth  as  an  absolute  and  indestructible  part  of 
the  motive  of  the  act  itself.  Because  the  theory  in  ques« 
tion  sticks  to  the  direct  perception  of  the  immediately  pres- 
ent quality  of  acts,  it  is  usually  called,  in  analogy  with 
the  direct  perception  of  eye  or  ear,  the  moral  sense  theory. 

Objections  to  Theory. — The  objections  to  this  theory 
in  the  extreme  form  just  stated  may  be  brought  under 
two  heads:   (1)   There  is  no  evidence  to  prove  that  all 


MORAL  SENSE  INTUITIONALISM         319 

acts  are  directly  characterized  by  the  possession  of  abso- 
lute and  self-evident  rightness  and  wrongness;  there  is 
much  evidence  to  show  that  this  quality  when  presented  by 
acts  can,  as  a  rule,  be  traced  to  earlier  instruction,  to  the 
pressure  of  correction  and  punishment,  and  to  association 
with  other  experiences.  (2)  While  in  this  way  many  acts, 
perhaps  almost  all,  of  the  average  mature  person  of  a  good 
moral  environment,  have  acquired  a  direct  moral  coloring, 
making  unnecessary  elaborate  calculation  or  reference  to 
general  principles,  yet  there  is  nothing  infallible  in  such 
intuitively  presented  properties.  An  act  may  present  it- 
self as  thoroughly  right  and  yet  may  be,  in  reality,  wrong. 
The  function  of  conscious  deliberation  and  reasoning  is 
precisely  to  detect  the  existence  of  and  to  correct  such 
intuitive  cases.^ 

I.  Direct  Perception  as  Effect  of  Habits. — It  must  be 
admitted,  as  a  result  of  any  unprejudiced  examination, 
that  a  large  part  of  the  acts,  motives,  and  plans  of  the 
adult  who  has  had  favorable  moral  surroundings  seem  to 
possess  directly,  and  in  their  own  intrinsic  make-up,  right- 
ness or  wrongness  or  moral  indifference.  To  think  of 
lying  or  stealing  is  one  with  thinking  of  it  as  wrong; 
to  recall  or  suggest  an  act  of  kindness  is  the  same  as 
thinking  of  it  as  right ;  to  think  of  going  after  mail  is  to 
think  of  an  act  free  from  either  rightness  or  wrongness. 
With  the  average  person  it  is  probably  rare  for  much 
time  to  be  spent  in  figuring  out  whether  an  act  is  right 
or  wrong,  after  the  idea  of  that  act  has  once  definitely 
presented  itself.  So  far  as  the  facts  of  moral  experience 
in  such  cases  are  concerned,  the  "moral  sense"  theory 
appears  to  give  a  correct  description. 

(1)   But  the   conclusion   that,  therefore,  moral   good- 
ness or  badness  is  and  always  has  been  an  inherent,  abso- 

*  A  student  in  an  ethics  class  once  made  this  remark:  "Conscience 
is  infallible,  but  we  should  not  always  follow  it.  Sometimes  we 
should  use  our  reason." 


SSO     PLACE  OP  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

lute  property  of  the  act  itself,  overlooks  well-known  psy- 
chological principles.  In  all  perception,  in  all  recognition, 
there  is  a  funding  or  capitalizing  of  the  results  of  past 
experience  by  which  the  results  are  rendered  available  in 
new  experiences.  Even  a  young  child  recognizes  a  table, 
a  chair,  a  glass  of  milk,  a  dog,  as  soon  as  he  sees  it; 
there  is  no  analysis,  no  conscious  interpretation.  Dis- 
tance, direction,  size,  under  normal  circumstances,  are 
perceived  with  the  same  assurance  and  ease.  But  there 
was  a  time  when  all  these  things  were  learning ;  when  con- 
scious experimentation  involving  interpretation  took 
place.  Such  perceptions,  moreover,  take  place  under 
the  guidance  of  others;  pains  are  taken  indelibly 
to  stamp  moral  impressions  by  associating  them  with 
intense,  vivid,  and  mysterious  or  awful  emotional 
accompaniments.^ 

Anthropological  and  historical  accounts  of  different 
races  and  peoples  tell  the  same  story.  Acts  once  entirely 
innocent  of  moral  distinctions  have  acquired,  under  differ- 
ing circumstances  and  sometimes  for  trivial  and  absurd 
reasons,  different  moral  values: — one  and  the  same  sort 
of  act  being  stamped  here  as  absolute  guilt,  there  as  an 
act  of  superior  and  heroic  virtue.  Now  it  would  be  falla- 
cious to  argue  (as  some  do)  that  because  distinctions  of 
moral  quality  have  been  acquired  and  are  not  innate,  they 
are  therefore  unreal  when  they  are  acquired.  Yet  the 
fact  of  gradual  development  proves  that  no  fixed  line  exists 
where  it  can  be  said  the  case  is  closed;  that  just  this  is 
henceforth  forever  right  or  wrong;  that  there  shall  be  no 
further  observation  of  consequences,  no  further  correction 
and  revision  of  present  "intuitions." 

(2)  Our  immediate  moral  recognitions  take  place,  more- 
over, only  under  usual  circumstances.     There  is  after  all 


*  Compare  Locke,  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding ,  Book  I., 
ch.  iii. 


MORAL  SENSE  INTUITIONALISM         321 

no  such  thing  as  complete  moral  maturity;  all  persons 
are  still  more  or  less  children — in  process  of  learning 
moral  distinctions.  The  more  intense  their  moral  inter- 
ests, the  more  childlike,  the  more  open,  flexible,  and  grow- 
ing are  their  minds.  It  is  only  the  callous  and  indifferent, 
or  at  least  the  conventional,  who  find  all  acts  and  projects 
so  definitely  right  and  wrong  as  to  render  reflection 
unnecessary.  "New  occasions  teach  new  duties,"  but  they 
teach  them  only  to  those  who  recognize  that  they  are  not 
already  in  possession  of  adequate  moral  judgments.  Any 
other  view  destroys  the  whole  meaning  of  reflective  morality 
and  marks  a  relapse  to  the  plane  of  sheer  custom.  Ex- 
treme intuitionalism  and  extreme  moral  conservatism;  dis- 
like to  calculation  and  reflection,  for  fear  of  innovations 
with  attendant  trouble  and  discomfort,  are  usually  found 
to  go  together. 

II.  Direct  Perception  No  Guarantee  of  Validity. — 
This  suggests  our  second  objection.  The  existence  of  im- 
mediate moral  quality,  the  direct  and  seemingly  final 
possession  of  rightness,  as  matter  of  fact,  is  not  adequate 
proof  of  validity.  At  best,  it  furnishes  a  presumption 
of  correctness,  in  the  absence  of  grounds  for  questioning 
it,  in  fairly  familiar  situations,  (a)  There  is  nothing 
more  direct,  more  seemingly  self-evident,  than  inveterate 
prejudice.  When  class  or  vested  interest  is  enlisted  in 
the  maintenance  of  the  custom  or  institution  which  is 
expressed  in  a  prejudice,  the  most  vicious  moral  judg- 
ments assume  the  guise  of  self-conscious  sanctity,  (b) 
A  judgment  which  is  correct  under  usual  circumstances 
may  become  quite  unfit,  and  therefore  wrong,  if  persisted 
in  under  new  conditions.  Life,  individual  and  social,  is  in 
constant  process  of  change;  and  there  is  always  danger 
of  error  in  clinging  to  judgments  adjusted  to  older  cir- 
cumstances. "The  good  is  the  enemy  of  the  better."  It 
is  not  merely  false  ideas  of  the  values  of  life  that  have  to 
be  re-formed,  but  ideas  once  true.    When  economic,  politi- 


322      PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

cal,  and  scientific  conditions  are  modifying  themselves  as 
rapidly  and  extensively  as  they  are  in  our  day,  it  is  re- 
construction of  moral  judgment  that  needs  emphasis, 
rather  than  the  existence  of  a  lot  of  ready-made  "intui- 
tions." When  readjustment  is  required,  deliberate  in- 
quiry is  the  only  alternative  to  inconsiderate,  undirected, 
and  hence  probably  violent  changes: — changes  involving 
undue  relaxation  of  moral  ties  on  one  side  and  arbitrary 
reactions  on  the  other. 

Deliberation  and  Intuition. — It  is  indeed  absurd  to 
set  immediate  recognition  of  quality  and  indirect  cal- 
culation of  more  or  less  remote  consequences,  intuition 
and  thought,  over  against  each  other  as  if  they  were  rivals. 
For  they  are  mutually  supplementary.  As  we  saw  in  a 
previous  chapter,  the  foresight  of  future  results  calls 
out  an  immediate  reaction  of  satisfaction  and  dissatis- 
faction, of  happiness  or  dislike.  (See  p.  272.)  It  is 
equally  as  false  to  say  that  we  calculate  only  future  pains 
and  pleasures  (instead  of  changes  in  the  world  of  things 
and  persons)  as  it  is  to  say  that  anticipations  of  the 
changes  to  be  wrought  in  the  world  by  our  act  are  not 
accompanied  by  an  immediate  emotional  appreciation  of 
their  value.  The  notion  that  deliberation  upon  the  various 
alternatives  open  to  us  is  simply  a  cold-blooded  setting 
down  of  various  items  to  our  advantage,  and  various  other 
items  to  our  disadvantage  (as  Robinson  Crusoe  wrote 
down  in  bookkeeping  fashion  his  miseries  and  blessings), 
and  then  striking  an  algebraic  balance,  implies  some- 
thing that  never  did  and  never  could  happen.  Delibera- 
tion is  a  process  of  active,  suppressed,  rehearsal ;  of  imagi- 
native dramatic  performance  of  various  deeds  carrying 
to  their  appropriate  issues  the  various  tendencies  which 
we  feel  stirring  within  us.  When  we  see  in  Imagination  this 
or  that  change  brought  about,  there  is  a  direct  sense  of 
the  amount  and  kind  of  worth  which  attaches  to  it,  as 
real  and  as  direct,  if  not  as  strong,  as  if  the  act  were 


MORAL  SENSE  INTUITIONALISM         323 

really  performed  and  its  consequence  really  brought  home 
to  us. 

Deliberation  as  Dramatic  Rehearsal. — We,  indeed,  es- 
timate the  import  or  significance  of  any  present  desire 
or  impulse  by  forecasting  what  it  would  come  or  amount 
to  if  carried  out;  literally  its  consequences  define  its  con- 
sequence, its  meaning  and  importance.  But  if  these 
consequences  were  conceived  merely  as  remote,  if  their 
picturing  did  not  at  once  arouse  a  present  sense  of  peace, 
of  fulfillment,  or  of  dissatisfaction,  of  incompletion  and 
irritation,  the  process  of  thinking  out  consequences  would 
remain  purely  intellectual.  It  would  be  as  barren  of 
influence  upon  behavior  as  the  mathematical  speculations 
of  a  disembodied  angel.  Any  actual  experience  of  re- 
flection upon  conduct  will  show  that  every  foreseen  result 
at  once  stirs  our  present  affections,  our  likes  and  dislikes, 
our  desires  and  aversions.  There  is  developed  a  running 
commentary  which  stamps  values  at  once  as  good  or  evil. 
It  is  this  direct  sense  of  value,  not  the  consciousness  of 
general  rules  or  ultimate  goals,  which  finally  determines 
the  worth  of  the  act  to  the  agent.  Here  is  the  inex- 
pugnable element  of  truth  in  the  intuitional  theory.  Its 
error  lies  in  conceiving  this  immediate  response  of  appre- 
ciation as  if  it  excluded  reflection  instead  of  following 
directly  upon  its  heels.  Deliberation  is  actually  an  imag- 
inative rehearsal  of  various  courses  of  conduct.  We 
give  way,  in  our  mind,  to  some  impulse;  we  try,  in  our 
mind,  some  plan.  Following  its  career  through  various 
steps,  we  find  ourselves  in  imagination  in  the  presence  of 
the  consequences  that  would  follow:  and  as  we  then  like 
and  approve,  or  dislike  and  disapprove,  these  conse- 
quences, we  find  the  original  impulse  or  plan  good  or  bad. 
Deliberation  is  dramatic  and  active,  not  mathematical  and 
impersonal ;  and  hence  it  has  the  intuitive,  the  direct  factor 
in  it.  The  advantage  of  a  mental  trial,  prior  to  the  overt 
trial  (for  the  act  after  all  is  itself  also  a  trial,  a  prov- 


SM     PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

ing  of  the  idea  that  hes  back  of  it),  is  that  it  is  retrievable, 
whereas  overt  consequences  remain.  They  cannot  be  re- 
called. Moreover,  many  trials  may  mentally  be  made  in  a 
short  time.  The  imagining  of  various  plans  carried  out 
furnishes  an  opportunity  for  many  impulses  which  at 
first  are  not  in  evidence  at  all,  to  get  under  way.  Many 
and  varied  direct  sensings,  appreciations,  take  place. 
When  many  tendencies  are  brought  into  play,  there  is 
clearly  much  greater  probability  that  the  capacity  of  self 
which  is  really  needed  and  appropriate  will  be  brought 
into  action,  and  thus  a  truly  reasonable  happiness  result. 
The  tendency  of  deliberation  to  "polarize"  the  various  lines 
of  activity  into  opposed  alternatives,  into  incompatible 
"either  this  or  that,"  is  a  way  of  forcing  into  clear  recog- 
nition the  importance  of  the  issue. 

The  Good  Man's  Judgments  as  Standard. — This  ex- 
plains the  idea  of  Aristotle  that  only  the  good  man  is  a 
good  judge  of  what  is  really  good.  Such  an  one  will  take 
satisfaction  in  the  thought  of  noble  ends  and  will  recoil 
at  the  idea  of  base  results.  Because  of  his  formed  capaci- 
ties, his  organized  habits  and  tendencies,  he  will  respond 
to  a  suggested  end  with  an  emotion  which  confers  its 
appropriate  kind  and  shade  of  value.  The  brave  man 
is  sensitive  to  all  acts  and  plans  so  far  as  they  involve 
energy  and  endurance  in  overcoming  painful  obstacles; 
the  kindly  man  responds  at  once  to  the  elements  that 
affect  the  well-being  of  others.  The  moral  sense  or  direct 
appreciations  of  the  good  man  may  thus  be  said  to  furnish 
the  standard  of  right  and  wrong.  There  are  few  persons 
who,  when  in  doubt  regarding  a  difficult  matter  of  con- 
duct, do  not  think  of  some  other  person  in  whose  good- 
ness they  believe,  and  endeavor  to  direct  and  clinch  their 
own  judgment  by  imagining  how  such  an  one  would  react 
in  a  similar  situation — ^what  he  would  find  congenial  and 
what  disagreeable.  Or  else  they  imagine  what  that  other 
person  would  think  of  them  if  he  knew  of  their  doing  such 


THE  PLACE  OF  GENERAL  RULES   325 

and  such  an  act.  And  while  this  method  cannot  supply  the 
standard  of  their  own  judgment,  cannot  determine  the 
right  or  wrong  for  their  own  situations,  it  helps  emanci- 
pate judgment  from  selfish  partialities,  and  it  faciUtates 
a  freer  and  more  flexible  play  of  imagination  in  construing 
and  appreciating  the  situation. 

§  4.  THE  PLACE  OF  GENERAL  RULES 

Between  such  a  highly  generalized  and  formal  principle 
as  that  of  Kant,  and  the  judgment  of  particular  cases,  we 
have  intermediate  generalizations;  rules  which  are  broad 
as  compared  with  individual  deeds,  but  narrow  as  com- 
pared with  some  one  final  principle.  What  are  their  ra- 
tional origin,  place,  and  function?  We  have  here  again 
both  the  empirical  and  the  intuitional  theories  of  knowl- 
edge, having  to  deal  with  the  same  fundamental  difficulty : 
What  is  the  relation  of  the  special  rule  to  the  general 
principle  on  one  side  and  to  the  special  case  on  the  other? 
The  more  general,  the  more  abstractly  rational  the  rule, 
the  vaguer  and  less  applicable  it  is.  The  more  definite 
and  fixed  it  is,  the  greater  the  danger  that  it  will  be  a 
Procrustean  bed,  mutilating  the  rich  fullness  of  the  indi- 
vidual act,  or  destroying  its  grace  and  freedom  by  making 
it  conform  servilely  to  a  hard  and  fast  rule.  Our  analysis 
will  accordingly  be  devoted  to  bringing  to  hght  the  con- 
ditions under  which  a  rule  may  be  rational  and  yet  be  of 
specific  help. 

I.  Intuitionalism  and  Casuistry. — Utilitarianism  at 
least  holds  that  rules  are  derived  from  actual  cases  of  con- 
duct ;  hence  there  must  be  points  of  likeness  between  the 
cases  to  be  judged  and  the  rules  for  judging  them.  But 
rules  which  do  not  originate  from  a  consideration  of 
special  cases,  which  simply  descend  out  of  the  blue  sky, 
have  only  the  most  mechanical  and  external  relation  to  the 
individual  acts  to  be  judged.     Suppose  one  is  convinced 


PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

that  the  rule  of  honesty  was  made  known  just  in  and  of 
itself  by  a  special  faculty,  and  had  absolutely  nothing 
to  do  with  the  recollection  of  past  cases  or  the  forecast 
of  possible  future  circumstances.  How  would  such  a  rule 
apply  itself  to  any  particular  case  which  needed  to  be 
judged?  What  bell  would  ring,  what  signal  would  be 
given,  to  indicate  that  just  this  case  is  the  appropriate 
case  for  the  application  of  the  rule  of  honest  dealing? 
And  if  by  some  miracle  this  question  were  answered  so  one 
knows  that  here  is  a  case  for  the  rule  of  honesty,  how  would 
we  know  just  what  course  in  detail  the  rule  calls  for? 
For  the  rule,  to  be  applicable  to  all  cases,  must  omit  the 
conditions  which  differentiate  one  case  from  another;  it 
must  contain  only  the  very  few  similar  elements  which  are 
to  be  found  in  all  honest  deeds.  Reduced  to  this  skeleton, 
not  much  would  be  left  save  the  bare  injunction  to  be  honest 
whatever  happens,  leaving  it  to  chance,  the  ordinary  judg- 
ment of  the  individual,  or  to  external  authority  to  find 
out  just  what  honesty  specifically  means  in  the  given  case. 

This  difficulty  is  so  serious  that  all  systems  which  have 
committed  themselves  to  belief  in  a  number  of  hard  and 
fast  rules  having  their  origin  in  conscience,  or  in  the  word 
of  God  impressed  upon  the  human  soul  or  externally  re- 
vealed, always  have  had  to  resort  to  a  more  and  more 
complicated  procedure  to  cover,  if  possible,  all  the  cases. 
The  moral  life  is  finally  reduced  by  them  to  an  elaborate 
formalism  and  legalism. 

Illustration  in  Casuistry. — Suppose,  for  example,  we 
take  the  Ten  Commandments  as  a  starting-point.  They 
are  only  ten,  and  naturally  confine  themselves  to  general 
ideas,  and  ideas  stated  mainly  in  negative  form.  More- 
over, the  same  act  may  be  brought  under  more  than  one 
rule.  In  order  to  resolve  the  practical  perplexities  and 
uncertainties  which  inevitably  arise  under  such  circum- 
stances. Casuistry  is  built  up  (from  the  Latin  casus, 
case).     The  attempt  is  made  to  foresee  all  the  different 


THE  PLACE  OF  GENERAL  RULES 

cases  of  action  which  may  conceivably  occur,  and  provide 
in  advance  the  exact  rule  for  each  case.  For  example,  with 
reference  to  the  rule  "do  not  kill,"  a  list  will  be  made  of 
all  the  different  situations  in  which  killing  might  occur : — 
accident,  war,  fulfillment  of  command  of  political  supe- 
rior (as  by  a  hangman),  self-defense  (defense  of  one's 
own  life,  of  others,  of  property),  deliberate  or  premedi- 
tated killing  with  its  different  motives  (jealousy,  avarice, 
revenge,  etc.),  killing  with  slight  premeditation,  from  sud- 
den impulse,  from  different  sorts  and  degrees  of  provoca- 
tion. To  each  one  of  these  possible  cases  is  assigned 
its  exact  moral  quality,  its  exact  degree  of  turpitude 
and  innocency.  Nor  can  this  process  end  with  overt  acts ; 
all  the  inner  springs  of  action  which  affect  regard  for  life 
must  be  similarly  classified:  envy,  animosity,  sudden  rage, 
sullenness,  cherishing  of  sense  of  injury,  love  of  tyranni- 
cal power,  hardness  or  hostility,  callousness — all  these 
must  be  specified  into  their  different  kinds  and  the  exact 
moral  worth  of  each  determined.  What  is  done  for  this 
one  kind  of  case  must  be  done  for  every  part  and  phase 
of  the  entire  moral  life  until  it  is  all  inventoried,  cata- 
logued, and  distributed  into  pigeon-holes  definitely  labelled. 
Dangers  of  Casuistry. — Now  dangers  and  evils  attend 
this  way  of  conceiving  the  moral  life,  (a)  It  tends  to 
magnify  the  letter  of  morality  at  the  expense  of  its  spirit. 
It  fixes  attention  not  upon  the  positive  good  in  an  act, 
not  upon  the  underlying  disposition  agent  which  forms  its 
spirit,  and  upon  the  unique  occasion  and  context  which 
form  its  atmosphere,  but  upon  its  literal  conformity  with 
Rule  A,  Class  I.,  Species  1,  sub-head  (1),  etc.  The 
effect  of  this  is  inevitably  to  narrow  the  scope  and  lessen 
the  depth  of  conduct,  (i.)  It  tempts  some  to  hunt  for  that 
classification  of  their  act  which  will  make  it  the  most  con- 
venient or  profitable  for  themselves.  In  popular  speech, 
"casuistical"  has  come  to  mean  a  way  of  judging  acts 
which  splits  hairs  in  the  effort  to  fin,d  a  way  of  acting 


PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

that  conduces  to  personal  interest  and  profit,  and  which 
yet  may  be  justified  by  some  moral  principle,  (ii.)  With 
others,  this  regard  for  the  letter  makes  conduct  formal 
and  pedantic.  It  gives  rise  to  a  rigid  and  hard  type  of 
character  illustrated  among  the  Pharisees  of  olden  and 
the  Puritans  of  modern  time — the  moral  schemes  of  both 
classes  being  strongly  impregnated  with  the  notion  of  fixed 
moral  rules. 

(b)  This  ethical  system  also  tends  vn  practice  to 
a  legal  view  of  conduct. — Historically  it  always  has 
sprung  from  carrying  over  legal  ideas  into  morality. 
In  the  legal  view,  liability  to  blame  and  to  punishment 
inflicted  from  without  by  some  superior  authority,  is  neces- 
sarily prominent.  Conduct  is  regulated  through  specific 
injunctions  and  prohibitions:  Do  this,  Do  not  do  that. 
Exactly  the  sort  of  analysis  of  which  we  have  spoken 
above  (p.  327)  in  the  case  of  killing  is  necessary,  so  that 
there  may  be  definite  and  regular  methods  of  measuring 
guilt  and  assigning  blame.  Now  the  ideas  of  liability  and 
punishment  and  reward  are,  as  we  shall  see  in  our  further 
discussion  (chs.  xvii.  and  xxi.),  important  factors  in  the 
conduct  of  life,  but  any  scheme  of  morals  is  defective 
which  puts  the  question  of  avoiding  punishment  in  the 
foreground  of  attention,  and  which  tends  to  create  a  Phari- 
saical complacency  in  the  mere  fact  of  having  conformed 
to  command  or  rule. 

(c)  Frobdbly  the  worst  evil  of  this  moral  system  is 
that  it  tends  to  deprive  moral  life  of  freedom  and  spon- 
taneity and  to  reduce  it  (especially  for  the  conscien- 
tious who  take  it  seriously)  to  a  more  or  less  anxious  and 
servile  conformity  to  externally  imposed  rules.  Obedience 
as  loyalty  to  principle  is  a  good,  but  this  scheme  prac- 
tically makes  it  the  only  good  and  conceives  it  not  as  loy- 
alty to  ideals,  but  as  conformity  to  commands.  Moral 
rules  exist  just  as  independent  deliverances  on  their  own 
account,  and  the  right  thing  is  merely  to  follow  them.  This 


THE  PLACE  OF  GENERAL  RULES    329 

puts  the  center  of  moral  gravity  outside  the  concrete 
processes  of  hving.  All  systems  which  emphasize  the  let- 
ter more  than  the  spirit,  legal  consequences  more  than  vital 
motives,  put  the  individual  under  the  weight  of  external 
authority.  They  lead  to  the  kind  of  conduct  described  by 
St.  Paul  as  under  the  law,  not  in  the  spirit,  with  its  con- 
stant attendant  weight  of  anxiety,  uncertain  struggle, 
and  impending  doom. 

All  Fixed  Rules  Have  Same  Tendencies. — Many  who 
strenuously  object  to  all  of  these  schemes  of  conduct,  to 
everything  which  hardens  it  into  forms  by  emphasizing 
external  commands,  authority  and  punishments  and  re- 
wards, fail  to  see  that  such  evils  are  logically  connected 
with  any  acceptance  of  the  finality  of  fixed  rules.  They 
hold  certain  bodies  of  people,  religious  officers,  political 
or  legal  authorities,  responsible  for  what  they  object  to 
in  the  scheme ;  while  they  still  cling  to  the  idea  that  morality 
is  an  effort  to  apply  to  particular  deeds  and  projects  a 
certain  number  of  absolute  unchanging  moral  rules.  They 
fail  to  see  that,  if  this  were  its  nature,  those  who  attempt 
to  provide  the  machinery  which  would  render  it  practically 
workable  deserve  praise  rather  than  blame.  In  fact,  the 
notion  of  absolute  rules  or  precepts  cannot  be  made  work- 
able except  through  certain  superior  authorities  who  de- 
clare and  enforce  them.  Said  Locke :  "It  is  no  small  power 
it  gives  one  man  over  another  to  be  the  dictator  of  princi- 
ples and  teacher  of  unquestionable  truths." 

II.  Utilitarian  View  of  General  Rules. — The  utilitari- 
ans escape  the  difficulties  inherent  in  the  application  to 
particular  cases  of  a  rule  which  has  nothing  to  do  with 
particular  cases.  Their  principles  for  judging  right  and 
wrong  in  particular  cases  are  themselves  generalizations 
from  particular  observations  of  the  effect  of  certain  acts 
upon  happiness  and  misery.  But  if  we  take  happiness 
in  the  technical  sense  of  Bentham  (as  meaning,  that  is, 
ein  aggregate  of  isolated  pleasures)  it  is  impossible  for 


330     PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

general  rules  to  exist — there  is  nothing  to  generalize. 
If,  however,  we  take  happiness  in  its  common-sense  form, 
as  welfare,  a  state  of  successful  achievement,  satisfactory 
realization  of  purpose,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  exist- 
ence of  maxims  and  formulas  in  which  mankind  has  regis- 
tered its  experience.  The  following  quotations  from  Mill 
bring  out  the  essential  points: 

"We  think  utility  or  happiness  much  too  complex  and  in- 
definite an  end  to  be  sought  except  through  the  medium  of 
various  secondary  ends  concerning  which  there  may  be,  and 
often  is,  agreement  among  persons  who  differ  in  their  ultimate 
standard;  and  about  which  there  does  in  fact  prevail  a  much 
greater  unanimity  among  thinking  persons,  than  might  be  sup- 
posed from  their  diametrical  divergence  on  the  great  ques- 
tions of  moral  metaphysics"   {Essay  on  Bentham). 

These  secondary  ends  or  principles  are  such  matters  as 
regard  for  health,  honesty,  chastity,  kindness,  and  the 
like.  Concerning  them  he  says  in  his  Utilitarianism 
(ch.  ii.): 

"Mankind  must  by  this  time  have  acquired  positive  beliefs  as 
to  the  effects  of  some  actions  on  their  happiness;  and  the  be- 
liefs which  have  thus  come  down  are  rules  of  morality  for  the 
multitude  and  for  the  philosopher  until  he  has  succeeded  in 
finding  better.  .  .  .  To  consider  the  rules  of  morality  as  im- 
provable is  one  thing;  to  pass  over  the  intermediate  generali- 
zations entirely  and  endeavor  to  test  each  individual  action 
directly  by  the  first  principle,  is  another.  .  .  .  Nobody  ar- 
gues that  the  act  of  navigation  is  not  founded  on  astronomy, 
because  sailors  cannot  wait  to  calculate  the  nautical  almanac. 
Being  rational  creatures,  they  go  to  sea  with  it  already  calcu- 
lated; and  all  rational  creatures  go  out  upon  the  sea  of  life 
with  their  minds  made  up  on  the  common  questions  of  right 
and  wrong,  as  well  as  on  many  of  the  far  more  difficult  ques- 
tions of  wise  and  foolish." 

Empirical  Rules  Run  into  Fixed  Customs. — It  cannot 
be  denied  that  Mill  here  states  considerations  which  are  of 
great  value  in  aiding  present  judgments  on  right  an(J 


THE  PLACE  OF  GENERAL  RULES    331 

wrong.  The  student  of  history  will  have  little  doubt  that 
the  rules  of  conduct  which  the  intuitionalist  takes  as  ulti- 
mate deliverances  of  a  moral  faculty  are  in  truth  gener- 
alizations of  the  sort  indicated  by  Mill.  But  the  truth 
brought  out  by  Mill  does  not  cover  the  ground  which 
needs  to  be  covered.  Such  rules  at  best  cover  customary 
elements;  they  are  based  upon  past  habits  of  life,  past 
natural  economic  and  political  environments.  And,  as  the 
student  of  customs  knows,  greater  store  is  often  set  upon 
trivial,  foolish,  and  even  harmful  things  than  upon  serious 
ones — upon  fashions  of  hair-dressing,  ablutions,  worship 
of  idols.  Coming  nearer  our  own  conditions,  past  cus- 
toms certainly  tolerate  and  sanction  many  practices,  such 
as  war,  cruel  business  competition,  economic  exploitation 
of  the  weak,  and  absence  of  cooperative  intelligent  fore- 
sight, which  the  more  sensitive  consciences  of  the  day  will 
not  approve. 

Hence  are  Unsatisfactory.- — Yet  such  things  have  been 
so  identified  with  happiness  that  to  forego  them  means 
misery,  to  alter  them  painful  disturbance.  To  take  the 
rules  of  the  past  with  any  literalness  as  criteria  of  judg- 
ment in  the  present,  would  be  to  return  to  the  unpro- 
gressive  morality  of  the  regime  of  custom — to  surrender 
the  advance  marked  by  reflective  morality.  Since  Bentham 
and  Mill  were  both  utilitarians,  it  is  worth  noting  that 
Bentham  insisted  upon  the  utilitarian  standard  just  be- 
cause he  was  so  convinced  of  the  unsatisfactory  character 
of  the  kind  of  rules  upon  which  Mill  is  dwelling.  The 
"Nautical  Almanac"  has  been  scientifically  calculated;  it 
is  adapted  rationally  to  its  end;  but  the  rules  which  sum 
up  custom  are  a  confused  mixture  of  class  interest,  irra- 
tional sentiment,  authoritative  pronunciamento,  and  gen- 
uine consideration  of  welfare. 

Empirical  Rules  Also  Differ  Widely. — The  fact  is, 
moreover,  that  it  is  only  when  the  "intermediate  generali- 
zations" are  taken  vaguely  and  abstractly  that  there  is 


PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

as  much  agreement  as  Mill  claims.  All  educated  and 
virtuous  persons  in  the  same  country  practically  agree 
upon  the  rules  of  justice,  benevolence,  and  regard  for  life, 
so  long  as  they  are  taken  in  such  a  vague  way  that  they 
mean  anything  in  general  and  nothing  in  particular. 
Every  one  is  in  favor  of  justice  in  the  abstract;  but  exist- 
ing political  and  economic  discussions  regarding  tariff, 
sumptuary  laws,  monetary  standards,  trades  unions, 
trusts,  the  relation  of  capital  and  labor,  the  regulation 
or  ownership  of  public  utilities,  the  nationalization  of  land 
and  industry,  show  that  large  bodies  of  intelligent  and 
equally  well-disposed  people  are  quite  capable  of  finding 
that  the  principle  of  justice  requires  exactly  opposite 
things. 

Custom  still  forms  the  background  of  all  moral  life, 
nor  can  we  imagine  a  state  of  affairs  in  which  it  should 
not.  Customs  are  not  external  to  individuals'  courses 
of  action;  they  are  embodied  in  the  habits  and  purposes 
of  individuals;  in  the  words  of  Grote  (quoted  above,  p. 
173),  they  "reign  under  the  appearance  of  habitual,  self- 
suggested  tendencies."  Laws,  formulated  and  unformu- 
lated, social  conventions,  rules  of  manners,  the  general 
expectations  of  public  opinion,  are  all  of  them  sources 
of  instruction  regarding  conduct.  Without  them  the 
individual  would  be  practically  helpless  in  determining  the 
right  courses  of  action  in  the  various  situations  in  which 
he  finds  himself.  Through  them  he  has  provided  himself 
in  advance  with  a  list  of  questions,  an  organized  series  of 
points-of-view,  by  which  to  approach  and  estimate  each 
state  of  affairs  requiring  action.  Most  of  the  moral  judg- 
ments of  every  individual  are  framed  in  this  way. 

For  Customs  Conflict. — If  social  customs,  or  individ- 
ual habits,  never  conflicted  with  one  another,  this  sort 
of  guidance  would  suffice  for  the  determination  of  right 
and  wrong.  But  reflection  is  necessitated  because  opposite 
habits  set  up  incompatible  ends,  forms  of  happiness  be- 


THE  PLACE  OF  GENERAL  RULES    333 

tween  which  choice  has  to  be  made.  Hence  the  need  of 
principles  in  judging.  Principles  of  judgment  cannot 
simply  reinstate  past  rules  of  behavior,  for  the  simple  rea- 
son that  as  long  as  these  rules  suffice  there  is  no  reflection 
and  no  demand  for  principles.  Good  and  evil,  right  and 
wrong,  are  embodied  in  the  injunctions  and  prohibitions  of 
customs  and  institutions  and  are  not  thought  about. 

Moral  Import  of  Principles  is  Intellectual,  Not  Imper- 
ative.— This  brings  us  to  the  essential  point  in  the  con- 
sideration of  the  value  of  general  principles.  Rules  are 
practical;  they  are  habitual  ways  of  doing  things.  But 
principles  are  intellectual;  they  are  useful  methods  of 
judging  things.  The  fundamental  error  of  the  intuition- 
alist  and  of  the  utilitarian  (represented  in  the  quotation 
from  Mill)  is  that  they  are  on  the  lookout  for  rules  which 
will  of  themselves  tell  agents  just  what  course  of  action  to 
pursue ;  whereas  the  object  of  moral  principles  is  to  supply 
standpoints  and  methods  which  will  enable  the  individual  to 
make  for  himself  an  analysis  of  the  elements  of  good  and 
evil  in  the  particular  situation  in  which  he  finds  himself. 
No  genuine  moral  principle  prescribes  a  specific  course  of 
action;  rules,^  like  cooking  recipes,  may  tell  just  what  to 
do  and  how  to  do  it.  A  moral  principle,  such  as  that  of 
chastity,  of  justice,  of  the  golden  rule,  gives  the  agent  a 
basis  for  looking  at  and  examining  a  particular  question 
that  comes  up.  It  holds  before  him  certain  possible  as- 
pects of  the  act;  it  warns  him  against  taking  a  short  or 
partial  view  of  the  act.  It  economizes  his  thinking  by 
supplying  him  with  the  main  heads  by  reference  to  which 
to  consider  the  bearings  of  his  desires  and  purposes;  it 
guides  him  in  his  thinking  by  suggesting  to  him  the  im- 
portant considerations  for  which  he  should  be  on  the 
lookout. 

*  Of  course,  the  word  "rule"  is  often  used  to  designate  a  principle — 
as  in  the  case  of  the  phrase  "golden-rule."  We  are  speaking  not 
of  the  words,  but  of  their  underlying  ideas. 


PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

Golden  Rule  as  a  Tool  of  Analysis. — A  moral  principle, 
then,  is  not  a  command  to  act  or  forbear  acting  in  a  given 
way  lit  is  a  tool  for  analyzing  a  special  situation,  the  right 
or  wrong  being  determined  by  the  situation  in  its  entirety, 
and  not  by  the  rule  as  such.  We  sometimes  hear  it  stated, 
for  example,  that  the  universal  adoption  of  the  Golden 
Rule  would  at  once  settle  all  industrial  disputes  and  diffi- 
culties. But  supposing  that  the  principle  were  accepted  in 
good  faith  by  everybody;  it  would  not  at  once  tell  every- 
body just  what  to  do  in  all  the  complexities  of  his  rela- 
tions to  others.  When  individuals  are  still  uncertain  of  what 
their  real  good  may  be,  it  does  not  finally  decide  matters 
to  tell  them  to  regard  the  good  of  others  as  they  would 
their  own.  Nor  does  it  mean  that  whatever  in  detail  we 
want  for  ourselves  we  should  strive  to  give  to  others. 
Because  I  am  fond  of  classical  music  it  does  not  follow  that 
I  should  thrust  as  much  of  it  as  possible  upon  my  neigh- 
bors. But  the  "Golden  Rule"  does  furnish  us  a  point 
of  view  from  which  to  consider  acts;  it  suggests  the  neces- 
sity of  considering  how  our  acts  affect  the  interests  of 
others  as  well  as  our  own;  it  tends  to  prevent  partiality 
of  regard;  it  warns  against  setting  an  undue  estimate 
upon  a  particular  consequence  of  pain  or  pleasure,  simply 
because  it  happens  to  affect  us.  In  short,  the  Golden  Rule 
does  not  issue  special  orders  or  commands;  but  it  does 
simplify  judgment  of  the  situations  requiring  intelligent 
deliberation. 

Sympathy  as  Actuating  Principle  of  a  Reasonable 
Judgment. — We  have  had  repeated  occasion  (as  in  the 
discussion  of  intent  and  motive,  of  intuition  and  deliberate 
calculation)  to  see  how  artificial  is  the  separation  of  emo- 
tion and  thought  from  one  another.  As  the  only  effective 
thought  is  one  fused  by  emotion  into  a  dominant  inter- 
est, so  the  only  truly  general,  the  reasonable  as  distinct 
from  the  merely  shrewd  or  clever  thought,  is  the  generous 
thought.     Sympathy  widens  our  interest  in  consequences 


THE  PLACE  OF  GENERAL  RULES    335 

and  leads  us  to  take  into  account  such  results  as  affect 
the  welfare  of  others ;  it  aids  us  to  count  and  weigh  these 
consequences  as  counting  for  as  much  as  those  which  touch 
our  own  honor,  purse,  or  power.  To  put  ourselves  in  the 
place  of  another,  to  see  from  the  standpoint  of  his  pur- 
poses and  values,  to  humble  our  estimate  of  our  own  claims 
and  pretensions  to  the  level  they  would  assume  in  the 
eyes  of  a  sympathetic  and  impartial  observer,  is  the  surest 
way  to  attain  universality  and  objectivity  of  moral  knowl- 
edge. Sympathy,  in  short,  is  the  general  principle  of 
moral  knowledge,  not  because  its  commands  take  prece- 
dence of  others  (which  they  do  not  necessarily),  but  be- 
cause it  furnishes  the  most  reliable  and  efficacious  intellec- 
tual standpoint.  It  supplies  the  tool,  par  excellence,  for 
analyzing  and  resolving  complex  cases.  As  was  said  in 
our  last  chapter,  it  is  the  fusion  of  the  sympathetic  im- 
pulses with  others  that  is  needed;  what  we  now  add  is 
that  in  this  fusion,  sympathy  supplies  the  pou  sto  for  an 
effective,  broad,  and  objective  survey  of  desires,  projects, 
resolves,  and  deeds.  It  translates  the  formal  and  empty 
reason  of  Kant  out  of  its  abstract  and  theoretic  charac- 
ter, just  as  it  carries  the  cold  calculations  of  utilitarianism 
into  recognition  of  the  common  good. 


LITERATURE 

For  criticisms  of  Kant's  view  of  reason,  see  Caird,  Philosophy  of 
Kant,  Vol.  II.,  Book  II.,  ch.  ii.;  Paulsen,  System  of  Ethics,  pp.  194- 
203  and  355-363;  Fite,  Introductory  Study,  pp.  173-188;  Muirhead, 
Elements  of  Ethics,  pp.  112-124. 

For  intuitionalism,  see  Calderwood,  Handbook  of  Moral  Philoso- 
phy; Maurice,  Conscience;  Whewell,  The  Elements  of  Morality; 
Martineau,  Types  of  Ethical  Theory,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  96-115;  Mezes, 
Ethics,  ch.  iii.;  Sidgwick,  Methods  of  Ethics,  13ook  I.,  chs.  viii.-ix., 
and  Book  III.  entire,  but  especially  ch.  i.;  History  of  Ethics,  170-204, 
and  224-236,  and  Lectures  on  Ethics  of  Green,  Spencer,  and  Mar- 
tineau, 361-374. 

For  the  moral  sense  theory,  see  Sidgwick,  History  of  Ethics,  p. 
189;  Shaftesbury,  Characteristics;  Hutcheson,  System  of  Moral 
Philosophy. 


PLACE  OF  REASON  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

For  casuistry,  see  references  in  Rand's  Bibliography,  Vol.  III., 
Part  II.,  p.  880. 

For  the  variability  of  moral  rules,  see  Locke,  Essay  on  the  Human 
Understanding,  Book  I.;  Bain,  Moral  Science,  Part  I.,  eh.  iii.;  Spen- 
cer, Principles  of  Ethics,  Vol.  I.,  Part  II.;  Williams,  Review  of  Evo- 
lutional Ethics,  pp.  423-465;  Bowne,  Principles  of  Ethics,  ch.  v.; 
Schurman,  The  Ethical  Import  of  Darwinism;  the  writings  of  Wester- 
marck  and  Hobhouse  elsewhere  referred  to,  and  Darwin,  Descent  of 
Man,  Part  I.,  chs.  iv.-v. 

For  the  nature  of  moral  judgment  and  the  function  of  reason  in 
conduct,  see  Aristotle,  Book  III.,  chs.  ii.-iii.,  and  Book  VI.;  Ladd, 
Philosophy  of  Conduct,  ch.  vii.;  Sharp,  Essay  on  Analysis  of  the 
Moral  Judgment,  in  Studies  in  Philosophy  and  Psychology  (Garman 
Commemorative  Volume) ;  Santayana,  Life  of  Reason,  Vol.  I.,  chs. 
x.-xii.;  Bryant,  Studies  in  Character,  Part  II.,  chs.  iv.-v. 

For  the  social  character  of  conscience,  see  Cooley,  Human  Nature 
and  the  Social  Order,  ch.  x. 

For  sympathy  and  conscience,  see  Adam  Smith,  Theory  of  Moral 
Sentiments,  especially  Part  III.,  chs.  i.  and  iv.,  and  Part  IV.,  chs. 
i.-iii.;  Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  pp.  228-238. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  THE  MORAL  LIFE: 
SUBJECTION  TO  AUTHORITY 

Conflict  of  Ends  as  Attractive  and  as  Reasonable. — 
The  previous  discussion  has  brought  out  the  contrast  be- 
tween a  Good  or  Satisfaction  which  is  such  directly^ 
immediately,  by  appealing  attractively  to  desire;  and 
one  which  is  such  indirectly,  through  considerations  which 
reflection  brings  up.  As  we  have  seen,  the  latter  must, 
if  entertained  at  all,  arouse  some  direct  emotional  response, 
must  be  felt  to  be  in  some  way  satisfactory.  But  the 
way  may  be  quite  unlike  that  of  the  end  which  attracts 
and  holds  a  man  irrespective  of  the  principle  brought 
to  light  by  reflection.  The  one  may  be  intense,  vivid, 
absorbing,  passing  at  once  into  overt  action,  unless 
checked  by  a  contrary  reason.  The  good  whose  claim  to 
be  good  depends  mainly  on  projection  of  remote  considera- 
tions, may  be  theoretically  recognized  and  yet  the  direct 
appeal  to  the  particular  agent  at  the  particular  time  be 
feeble  and  pallid.  The  "law  of  the  mind"  may  assert  itself 
less  urgently  than  the  "law  of  the  members"  which  wars 
against  it. 

Two  Senses  of  Term  Duty. — This  contrast  gives  rise 
to  the  fact  of  Duty.  On  one  side  is  the  rightful  suprem- 
acy of  the  reasonable  but  remote  good ;  on  the  other  side  is 
the  aversion  of  those  springs  to  action  which  are  imme- 
diately most  urgent.  Between  them  exists  the  necessity 
of  securing  for  the  reasonable  good  efficacy  in  opera- 
tion ;  or  the  necessity  of  redirecting  the  play  of  naturally 
dominant  desires.     Duty  is  also  used,  to  be  sure,  in  a 

387 


338        PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

looser  and  more  external  sense.  To  identify  the  dutiful 
with  the  right  apart  from  conflict,  to  say  that  a  man  did 
his  duty,  may  mean  that  he  did  right,  irrespective  of  the 
prior  state  of  his  inclinations.  It  frequently  happens 
that  the  wider  and  larger  good  which  is  developed  through 
reflective  memory  and  foresight  is  welcomed,  is  directly 
appreciated  as  good,  since  it  is  thoroughly  attractive. 
Without  stress  and  strain,  without  struggle,  it  just  dis- 
places the  object  which  unreflective  impulse  had  sug- 
gested. It  is  the  fit  and  proper,  the  only  sensible  and 
wise  thing,  under-  the  circumstances.  The  man  does  his 
duty,  but  is  glad  to  do  it,  and  would  be  troubled  by  the 
thought  of  another  line  of  action.  So  far  as  calling  the 
act  "duty"  brings  in  any  new  meaning,  it  means  that  the 
right  act  is  one  which  is  found  to  meet  the  demands,  the 
necessities,  of  the  situation  in  which  it  takes  place.  The 
Romans  thus  spoke  of  duties  as  offices,  the  performance 
of  those  functions  which  are  appropriate  to  the  status 
which  every  person  occupies  because  of  his  social  relations. 
Conscious  Conflict. — But  there  are  other  cases  in  which 
the  right  end  is  distinctly  apprehended  by  the  person 
as  standing  in  opposition  to  his  natural  inclinations,  as 
a  principle  or  law  which  ought  to  be  followed,  but  which 
can  be  followed  only  by  constraining  the  inclinations,  by 
snubbing  and  coercing  them.  This  state  of  affairs  is 
well  represented  by  the  following  quotation  from  Matthew 
Arnold,  if  we  take  it  as  merely  describing  the  facts,  not 
as  implying  a  theory  as  to  their  explanation : 

"All  experience  with  conduct  brings  ns  at  last  to  the  fact 
of  two  selves,  or  instincts,  or  forces — name  them,  however 
we  may  and  however  we  may  suppose  them  to  have  arisen — 
contending  for  the  mastery  over  men:  one,  a  movement  of 
first  impulse  and  more  involuntary,  leading  us  to  gratify  any 
inclination  that  may  solicit  us  and  called  generally  a  move- 
ment of  man's  ordinary  or  passing  self,  of  sense,  appetite, 
desire ;  the  other  a  movement  of  reflection  and  more  voluntary. 


SUBJECTION  OF  DESIRE  TO  LAW        339 

leading  us  to  submit  inclination  to  some  rule,  and  called  gen- 
erally a  movement  of  man's  higher  or  enduring  self,  of  rea- 
son, spirit,  will."  ^ 

We  shall  (I.)  present  what  we  consider  the  true  ac- 
count of  this  situation  of  conflict  in  which  the  sense  of  duty 
is  found;  (II.)  turn  to  explanations  which  are  one-sided, 
taking  up  (1)  the  intuitive,  (S)  the  utilitarian  theory; 
and  finally  (III.)  return  with  the  results  of  this  criticism 
to  a  restatement  of  our  own  theory. 


§  1.    THE  SUBJECTION  OF  DESIRE  TO  LAW 

Ordinary  language  sets  before  us  some  main  facts: 
duty  suggests  what  is  due,  a  debt  to  be  paid;  ought  is 
connected  with  owe;  obligation  implies  being  bound  to 
something — as  we  speak  of  "bounden  duty."  We  speak 
naturally  of  "meeting  obligations";  of  duties  being  "im- 
posed," "laid  upon"  one.  The  person  who  is  habitually 
careless  about  his  duties  is  "unruly"  or  "lawless" ;  one 
who  evades  or  refuses  them  is  "unprincipled."  These  ideas 
suggest  there  is  something  required,  exacted,  having  the 
sanction  of  law,  or  a  regular  and  regulative  principle; 
and  imply  natural  aversion  to  the  requirements  exacted,  a 
preference  for  something  else.  Hence  duty  as  a  conscious 
factor  means  constraint  of  inclination ;  an  unwillingness  or 
reluctance  which  should  be  overcome  but  which  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  surmount,  requiring  an  effort  which  only  adequate 
recognition  of  the  rightful  supremacy  of  the  dutiful  end 
will  enable  one  to  put  forth.  Thus  we  speak  of  interest 
conflicting  with  principle,  and  desire  with  duty.  While 
they  are  inevitably  bound  together,  it  will  be  convenient  to 
discuss  separately  ( 1 )  Inclination  and  impulse  as  averse  to 
duty,  and  (2)  Duty  as  having  authority,  as  express- 
ing law. 

*  Last  Essays  on  Church  and  Religion,  preface. 


340        PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

I.  Inclination  Averse  to  Duty. — Directly  and  indi- 
rectly, all  desires  root  in  certain  fundamental  organic 
wants  and  appetites.  Conduct,  behavior,  implies  a  living 
organism.  If  this  organism  were  not  equipped  with  an 
intense  instinctive  tendency  to  keep  itself  going,  to  sus- 
tain itself,  it  would  soon  cease  to  be  amid  the  menaces, 
difficulties,  rebuffs,  and  failures  of  life.  Life  means  appe- 
tites, like  hunger,  thirst,  sex;  instincts  like  anger,  fear, 
and  hope,  which  are  almost  imperious  in  their  struggles 
for  satisfaction.  They  do  not  arise  from  reflection,  but 
antedate  it;  their  existence  does  not  depend  upon  consid- 
eration of  consequences,  but  their  existence  it  is  which  tends 
to  call  out  reflection.  Their  very  presence  in  a  healthy 
organism  means  a  certain  reservoir  of  energy  which  over- 
flows almost  spontaneously.  They  are  impulsive.  Such 
tendencies,  then,  constitute  an  essential  and  fundamental 
part  of  the  capacities  of  a  person;  their  realization  is 
involved  in  one's  happiness.  In  all  this  there  is  nothing 
abnormal  nor  immoral.  But  a  human  being  is  something 
more  than  a  mere  demand  for  the  satisfaction  of  instincts 
of  food,  sex,  and  protection.  If  we  admit  (as  the  theory 
of  organic  evolution  requires)  that  all  other  desires  and 
purposes  are  ultimately  derived  from  these  tendencies  of 
the  organism,  still  it  is  true  that  the  refined  and  highly 
developed  forms  exist  side  by  side  with  crude,  organic 
forms,  and  that  the  simultaneous  satisfaction  of  the  two 
types,  just  as  they  stand,  is  impossible. 

Organic  and  Reflectively  Formed  Tendencies  Conflict. 
— Even  if  it  be  true,  as  it  may  well  be,  that  the  desires  and 
purposes  connected  with  property  were  developed  out 
of  instincts  having  to  do  with  food  for  self  and  offspring, 
it  is  still  true  that  the  developed  desires  do  not  wholly 
displace  those  out  of  which  they  developed.  The  pres- 
ence of  the  purposes  elaborated  by  thought  side  by  side 
with  the  more  organic  demands  causes  strife  and  the 
need  of  resolution.     The  accumulation  of  property  may 


SUBJECTION  OF  DESIRE  TO  LAW        341 

involve  subordinating  the  immediate  urgency  of  hunger; 
property  as  an  institution  implies  that  one  is  not  free 
to  satisfy  his  appetite  just  as  he  pleases,  but  may  have 
to  postpone  or  forego  satisfaction,  because  the  food  supply 
belongs  to  another;  or  that  he  can  satisfy  hunger  only 
through  some  labor  which  in  itself  is  disagreeable  to  him. 
Similarly  the  family  springs  originally  out  of  the  in- 
stinct of  reproduction.  But  the  purposes  and  plans  which 
go  with  family  life  are  totally  inconsistent  with  the  mere 
gratification  of  sexual  desire  in  its  casual  and  spontaneous 
appearance.  The  refined,  highly  developed,  and  com- 
plex purposes  exact  a  checking,  a  regulation  and  sub- 
ordination of  inclinations  as  they  first  spring  up — a 
control  to  which  the  incHnations  are  not  of  themselves 
prone  and  against  which  they  may  rebelhously  assert 
themselves. 

Duty  May  Reside  on  the  More  Impulsive  Side. — 
It  would  be  a  great  mistake,  however,  to  limit  the  need 
of  subordination  simply  to  the  unruly  agencies  of  appe- 
tite. Habits  which  have  been  consciously  or  reflectively 
formed,  even  when  in  their  original  formation  these  habits 
had  the  sanction  and  approval  of  reason,  require  control. 
The  habits  of  a  professional  man,  of  an  investigator,  or 
a  lawyer,  for  example,  have  been  formed  through  careful 
and  persistent  reflection  directed  upon  ends  adjudged 
right.  Virtues  of  painstaking  industry,  of  perseverance, 
have  been  formed;  untimely  and  unseemly  desires  have 
been  checked.  But  as  an  outcome  these  habits,  and  the 
desires  and  purposes  that  express  them,  have  perhaps 
become  all-engrossing.  Occupation  is  preoccupation.  It 
encroaches  upon  the  attention  needed  for  other  concerns. 
The  skill  gained  tends  to  shut  the  individual  up  to  narrow 
matters  and  to  shut  out  other  "universes"  of  good  which 
should  be  desired.  Domestic  and  civic  responsibilities  are 
perhaps  felt  to  be  insignificant  details  or  irritating  bur- 
dens unworthy  of  attention.   Thus  a  reflective  habit,  legiti- 


PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

mate  in  itself,  right  in  its  right  place,  may  give  rise  to 
desires  and  ends  which  involve  a  corrosive  selfishness. 

Moreover,  that  the  insubordination  does  not  reside  in 
appetites  or  impulses,  just  as  appetites  and  impulses,  is 
seen  in  the  fact  that  duty  may  lie  on  the  side  of  a  purpose 
connected  with  them,  and  be  asserted  against  the  force  of 
a  habit  formed  under  the  supervision  of  thought.  The 
student  or  artist  may  find  his  pursuit  makes  him  averse  to 
satisfying  the  needful  claims  of  hunger  and  healthy  exer- 
cise. The  prudent  business  man  may  find  himself  unduti- 
fully  cold  to  the  prompting  of  an  impulse  of  pity; 
the  student  of  books  or  special  intellectual  or  artistic 
ends  may  find  duty  on  the  side  of  some  direct  human 
impulse. 

Statement  of  Problem. — Such  considerations  show  that 
we  cannot  attribute  the  conflict  of  duty  and  inclination 
simply  to  the  existence  of  appetites  and  unreflective  im- 
pulses, as  if  these  were  in  and  of  themselves  opposed  to 
regulation  by  any  principle.  We  must  seek  for  an  ex- 
planation which  will  apply  equally  to  appetites  and  to 
habits  of  thought.  What  is  there  common  to  the  situations 
of  him  who  feels  it  his  duty  to  check  the  satisfaction  of 
strong  hunger  until  others  have  been  properly  served,  and 
of  the  scientific  investigator  who  finds  it  his  duty  to  check 
the  exercise  of  his  habit  of  thinking  in  order  that  he  may 
satisfy  the  demands  of  his  body.^^ 

Statement  of  Explanation. — Any  habit,  Hke  any  appe- 
tite or  instinct,  represents  something  formed,  set ;  whether 
this  has  occurred  in  the  history  of  the  race  or  of  the 
individual  makes  little  difference  to  its  established  urgency. 
Habit  is  second,  if  not  first,  nature.  ( 1 )  Habit  represents 
facilities;  what  is  set,  organized,  is  relatively  easy.  It 
marks  the  line  of  least  resistance.  A  habit  of  reflection, 
so  far  as  it  is  a  specialized  habit,  is  as  easy  and  natural 
to  follow  as  an  organic  appetite.  (2)  Moreover,  the  ex- 
ercise of  any  easy,  frictionless  habit  is  pleasurable.     It 


SUBJECTION  OF  DESIRE  TO  LAW 

is  a  commonplace  that  use  and  wont  deprive  situations  of 
originally  disagreeable  features.  (3)  Finally,  a  formed 
habit  is  an  active  tendency.  It  only  needs  an  appropri- 
ate stimulus  to  set  it  going;  frequently  the  mere  absence 
of  any  strong  obstacle  serves  to  release  its  pent-up  energy. 
It  is  a  propensity  to  act  in  a  certain  way  whenever  oppor- 
tunity presents.  Failure  to  function  is  uncomfortable  and 
arouses  feelings  of  irritation  or  lack. 

Reluctance  to  the  right  end,  an  aversion  requiring  to 
be  overcome,  if  at  all,  by  recognition  of  the  superior  value 
of  the  right  end,  is  then  to  be  accounted  for  on  the 
ground  of  the  inertia  or  momentum  of  any  organized, 
established  tendency.  This  momentum  gives  the  common 
ground  to  instinctive  impulses  and  deliberately  formed 
habits.  The  momentum  represents  the  old,  an  adaptation 
to  familiar,  customary  conditions.  So  far  as  similar 
conditions  recur,  the  formed  power  functions  economically 
and  effectively,  supplying  ease,  promptness,  certainty,  and 
agreeableness  to  the  execution  of  an  act. 

But  if  new,  changed  conditions  require  a  serious  read- 
justment of  the  old  habit  or  appetite,  the  natural  tend- 
ency will  be  to  resist  this  demand.  Thus  we  have  pre- 
cisely the  traits  of  reluctance  and  constraint  which  mark 
the  consciousness  of  duty.  A  self  without  habits,  one  loose 
and  fluid,  in  which  change  in  one  direction  is  just  as  easy 
as  in  another,  would  not  have  the  sense  of  duty.  A  self 
with  no  new  possibilities,  rigidly  set  in  conditions  and  per- 
fectly accommodated  to  them,  would  not  have  it.  But 
definite,  persistent,  urgent  tendencies  to  act  in  a  given  way, 
occurring  at  the  same  time  with  other  incompatible  tend- 
encies which  represent  the  self  more  adequately  and  yet 
are  not  organized  into  habits,  afford  the  conditions  of  the 
sense  of  restraint.  If  for  any  reason  the  unorganized 
tendency  is  judged  to  be  the  truer  expression  of  self,  we 
have  also  the  sense  of  lawful  constraint.  The  constraint 
of  appetite  and  desire  is  a  phenomenon  of  practical  read- 


344        PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

justmenty  within  the  structure  of  character,  due  to  con- 
flict of  tendencies  so  irreconcilable  in  their  existing  forms 
as  to  demand  radical  redirection. 

When  an  appetite  is  in  accord  with  those  habits  of 
an  individual  which  enable  him  to  perform  his  social 
functions,  or  which  naturally  accrue  from  his  social  rela- 
tions, it  is  legitimate  and  good;  when  it  conflicts,  it  is 
illicit,  it  is  lust ;  we  call  it  by  hard  names  and  we  demand 
that  it  be  curbed;  we  regard  its  force  as  a  menace  to 
the  integrity  of  the  agent  and  a  threat  to  social  order. 
When  the  reflective  habits  of  an  individual  come  into 
conflict  with  natural  appetites  and  impulses,  the  mani- 
festation of  which  would  enlarge  or  make  more  certain 
the  powers  of  the  individual  in  his  full  relations  to  others, 
it  is  the  reflective  habits  which  have  to  be  held  in  and 
redirected  at  the  cost  of  whatever  disagreeableness. 

(2)  The  Authority  of  Duty. — ^A  duty,  in  Kant's  words, 
is  a  categorical  imperative — it  claims  the  absolute  right 
of  way  as  against  immediate  inclination.  That  which,  on 
one  side,  is  the  constraint  of  natural  desire,  is,  on  the 
other,  the  authoritative  claim  of  the  right  end  to  regulate. 
Over  against  the  course  of  action  most  immediately  ur- 
gent, most  easy  and  comfortable,  so  congenial  as  at  once 
to  motivate  action  unless  checked,  stands  another  course, 
representing  a  wider  and  more  far-reaching  point  of 
view,  and  hence  furnishing  the  rational  end  of  the  situa- 
tion. However  lacking  in  intensity,  however  austere  this 
end,  it  stands  for  the  whole  self,  and  is  therefore  felt  to 
be  rightly  supreme  over  any  partial  tendency.  But  since 
it  looks  to  realization  in  an  uncertain  future,  rather  than 
permission  just  to  let  go  what  is  most  urgent  at  the  mo- 
ment, it  requires  eff^ort,  hard  work,  work  of  attention  more 
or  less  repulsive  and  uncongenial.  Hence  that  sense  of 
stress  and  strain,  of  being  pulled  one  way  by  inclination 
and  another  by  the  claims  of  right,  so  characteristic  of 
an  experience  of  obligation. 


SUBJECTION  OF  DESIRE  TO  LAW        345 

Social  Character  of  Duties. — But  this  statement  de- 
scribes the  experience  only  on  its  formal  side.  In  the  con- 
crete, that  end  which  possesses  claim  to  regulate  desire  is 
the  one  which  grows  out  of  the  social  position  or  function 
of  the  agent,  out  of  a  course  of  action  to  which  he  is  com- 
mitted by  a  regular,  socially  established  connection  between 
himself  and  others.  The  man  who  has  assumed  the  posi- 
tion of  a  husband  and  a  parent  has  by  that  very  fact 
entered  upon  a  line  of  action,  something  continuous,  run- 
ning far  into  the  future;  something  so  fundamental  that 
it  modifies  and  pervades  his  other  activities,  requiring  them 
to  be  coordinated  or  rearranged  from  its  point  of  view. 
The  same  thing  holds,  of  course,  of  the  calling  of  a  doctor, 
a  lawyer,  a  merchant,  a  banker,  a  judge,  or  other  officer 
of  the  State.  Each  social  calling  implies  a  continuous, 
regular  mode  of  action,  binding  together  into  a  whole  a 
multitude  of  acts  occurring  at  different  times,  and  giving 
rise  to  definite  expectations  and  demands  on  the  part  of 
others.  Every  relationship  in  life,  is,  as  it  were,  a  tacit 
or  expressed  contract  with  others,  committing  one,  by  the 
simple  fact  that  he  occupies  that  relationship,  to  a  corre- 
sponding mode  of  action.  Every  one,  willy-nilly,  occupies 
a  social  position;  if  not  a  parent,  he  is  a  child;  if  not 
an  officer,  then  a  citizen  of  the  State;  if  not  pursuing  an 
occupation,  he  is  in  preparation  for  an  occupation,  or 
else  is  living  upon  the  results  of  the  labors  of  others. 

Connection  with  Selfhood. — Every  one,  in  short,  is  in 
general  relations  to  others, — relationships  which  enter  so 
internally  and  so  intimately  into  the  very  make-up  of  his 
being  that  he  is  not  morally  free  to  pick  and  choose,  say- 
ing, this  good  is  really  my  affair,  that  other  one  not.  The 
mode  of  action  which  is  required  by  the  fact  that  the 
person  is  a  member  of  a  complex  social  network  is  a  more 
final  expression  of  his  own  nature  than  is  the  temporarily 
intense  instinctive  appetite,  or  the  habit  which  has  become 
"second  nature."    It  is  not  for  the  individual  to  say,  the 


346        PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

latter  is  attractive  and  therefore  really  mine,  while  the 
former  is  repellant  and  therefore  an  alien  intruder,  to 
be  surrendered  to  only  if  it  cannot  be  evaded.  From  this 
point  of  view,  the  conflict  of  desire  and  duty,  of  interest 
and  principle,  expresses  itself  as  a  conflict  between  tend- 
encies which  have  got  organized  into  one's  ficced  character 
and  which  therefore  appeal  to  him  just  as  he  is;  and  those 
tendencies  which  relate  to  the  development  of  a  larger 
self,  a  self  which  should  take  fuller  account  of  social  rela- 
tions. The  Kantian  theory  emphasizes  the  fact  brought 
out  above:  viz.^  that  duty  represents  the  authority  of  an 
act  expressing  the  reasonable  and  "universal"  self  over 
a  casual  and  partial  self;  while  the  utilitarian  theory  em- 
phasizes  the  part  played  by  social  institutions  and  demands 
in  creating  and  enforcing  both  special  duties  and  the 
sense  of  duty  in  general. 


§  2.    KANTIAN    THEORY 

"Accord  with"  Duty  versus  "from"  Duty. — Kant 
points  out  that  acts  may  be  "in  accordance  with  duty" 
and  yet  not  be  done  "from  duty."  "It  is  always,  for  ex- 
ample, a  matter  of  duty  that  a  dealer  should  not  over- 
charge an  inexperienced  purchaser,  and  wherever  there  is 
much  commerce  the  prudent  tradesman  does  not  over- 
charge. .  .  .  Men  are  thus  honestly  served;  but  this  is 
not  enough  to  prove  that  the  tradesman  so  acted  from  duty 
and  from  principles  of  honesty;  his  own  advantage  re- 
quired it"  (Kanfs  Theory  of  Ethics,  Abbott's  translation, 
p.  13).  In  such  a  case  the  act  externally  viewed  is  in  ac- 
cordance with  duty ;  morally  viewed,  it  proceeds  from  self- 
ish calculation  of  personal  profit,  not  from  duty.  This  is 
true  in  general  of  all  acts  which,  though  outwardly  right, 
spring  from  considerations  of  expediency,  and  are  based 
on  the  consideration  that'  "honesty  (or  whatever)  is  the 
best  policy."     Persons  are  naturally  inclined  to  take  care 


KANTIAN  THEORY  347 

of  their  health,  their  property,  their  children,  or  whatever 
belongs  to  them.  Such  acts,  no  matter  how  much  they 
accord  with  duty,  are  not  done  from  duty,  but  from  in- 
clination. If  a  man  is  suffering,  unfortunate,  desirous 
of  death,  and  yet  cherishes  his  life  with  no  love  for  it,  but 
from  the  duty  to  do  so,  his  motive  has  truly  moral  value. 
So  if  a  mother  cares  for  her  child,  because  she  recognizes 
that  it  is  her  duty,  the  act  is  truly  moral. 

From  Duty  alone  Moral. — ^According  to  Kant,  then, 
acts  alone  have  moral  import  that  are  consciously  per- 
formed "from  duty,"  that  is,  with  recognition  of  its  au- 
thority as  their  animating  spring.  ^^The  idea  of  good  and 
evil  (in  their  moral  sense)  must  not  he  determined  before 
the  moral  law,  hut  only  after  it  and  by  means  of  if  (Ibid., 
p.  154).  All  our  desires  and  inclinations  seek  natu- 
rally for  an  end  which  is  good — for  happiness,  success, 
achievement.  No  one  of  them  nor  all  of  them  put  together, 
then,  can  possibly  supply  the  motive  of  acting  from 
duty.  Hence  duty  and  its  authority  must  spring 
from  another  source,  from  reason  itself,  which  supplies 
the  consciousness  of  a  law  which  ought  to  be  the  motive 
of  every  act,  whether  it  is  or  not.  The  utilitarians  com- 
pletely reverse  the  truth  of  morals  when  they  say  that  the 
idea  of  the  good  end  comes  first  and  the  "right"  is  that 
which  realizes  the  good  end. 

Dual  Constitution  of  Man. — We  are  all  familiar  with 
the  notion  that  man  has  a  dual  constitution ;  that  he  is 
a  creature  both  of  sense  and  spirit;  that  he  has  a  carnal 
and  an  ideal  nature;  a  lower  and  a  higher  self,  a  self  of 
appetite  and  of  reason.  Now  Kant's  theory  of  duty  is  a 
peculiar  version  of  this  common  notion.  Man's  special  ends 
and  purposes  all  spring  from  desires  and  inclinations. 
These  are  all  for  personal  happiness  and  hence  without 
moral  worth.  They  form  man's  sensuous,  appetitive  na- 
ture, which  if  not  "base"  in  itself  easily  becomes  so, 
because  it  struggles  with  principle  for  the  office  of  supply- 


348        PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

ing  motives  for  action.  The  principle  of  a  law  absolutely 
binding,  requires  the  complete  expulsion  of  the  claim  of 
desires  to  motivate  action.  (See  Kant's  Theory^  ipip.  70- 
79;  132-136;  159-163.)  If  a  man  were  an  animal,  he 
would  have  only  appetite  to  follow;  if  he  were  a  god  or 
angel,  he  would  have  only  reason.  Being  man,  being  a 
peculiar  compound  of  sense  and  reason,  he  has  put  upon 
him  the  problem  of  resisting  the  natural  prompting  of 
inclination  and  of  accepting  the  duty  of  acting  from 
reverence  for  duty. 

Criticism  of  Kant*s  Theory. — There  is  an  undoubted 
fact  back  of  Kant's  conception  which  gives  it  whatever 
plausibility  it  has — the  fact  that  inclinations  which  are 
not  necessarily  evil  tend  to  claim  a  controlling  position,  a 
claim  which  has  to  be  resisted.  The  peculiarity  of  Kant's 
interpretation  lies  in  its  complete  and  final  separation  of 
the  two  aspects,  "higher"  and  "lower,"  the  appetitive  and 
rational,  of  man's  nature,  and  it  is  upon  this  separation, 
accordingly,  that  our  discussion  will  be  directed. 

I.  Duty  and  the  Affections. — In  the  first  place,  Kant's 
absolute  separation  of  sense  or  appetite  from  reason  and 
duty,  because  of  its  necessary  disparagement  of  the  affec- 
tions leads  to  a  formal  and  pedantic  view  of  morality. 
It  is  one  thing  to  say  that  desire  as  it  first  shows  itself 
sometimes  prompts  to  a  morally  inadequate  end ;  it  is  quite 
another  thing  to  say  that  ani^  acceptance  of  an  end  of 
desire  as  a  motive  is  morally  wrong — that  the  act  to  be 
right  must  be  first  brought  under  a  conscious  acknowledg- 
ment of  some  law  or  principle.  Only  the  exigencies  of  a 
ready-made  theory  would  lead  any  one  to  think  that  habit- 
ual purposes  that  express  the  habitually  dominant  tend- 
encies and  powers  of  the  agent,  may  not  suffice  to  keep 
morally  sound  the  main  tenor  of  behavior;  that  it  is  im- 
possible for  regard  for  right  ends  to  become  organized 
into  character  and  to  be  fused  into  working  unity  with 
natural  impulses.     Only  a  metaphysical  theory  regarding 


KANTIAN  THEORY  349 

the  separation  of  sense  and  reason  in  man  leads  to  the 
denial  of  this  fact. 

Between  the  merchant  who  is  honest  in  his  weights  and 
fixed  in  his  prices  merely  because  he  calculates  that  such  a 
course  is  to  his  own  advantage,  and  the  merchant  (if  such 
a  person  could  exist )  who  should  never  sell  a  spool  of  thread 
or  a  paper  of  pins  without  having  first  reminded  himself 
that  his  ultimate  motive  for  so  doing  was  respect  for 
the  law  of  duty,  there  is  the  ordinary  merchant  who  is 
honest  because  he  has  the  desires  characteristic  of  an  hon- 
est man.  Schiller  has  made  fun  of  the  artificial  stringency 
of  Kant's  theory  in  some  verses  which  represent  a  dis- 
ciple coming  to  Kant  with  his  perplexity: 

"Willingly  serve  I  my  friends,  but  I  do  it,  alas  with  affection. 
Hence  I  am  plagued  with  this  doubt,  virtue  I  have  not  attained!" 

to  which  he  received  the  reply: 

"This  is  your  only  resource,  you  must  stubbornly  seek  to  abhor  them; 
Then  you  can  do  with  disgust  that  which  the  law  may  enjoin." 

These  verses  are  a  caricature  of  Kant's  position;  he 
does  not  require  that  affections  should  be  crushed,  but  that 
they  should  be  stamped  with  acknowledgment  of  law  be- 
fore being  accepted  as  motives.  But  the  verses  bring  out 
the  absurd  element  in  the  notion  that  the  affections  and 
inclinations  may  not  of  themselves  be  morally  adequate 
springs  to  action, — as  if  a  man  could  not  eat  his  dinner 
simply  because  he  was  hungry,  or  be  amiable  to  a  com- 
panion because  he  wanted  to  be,  or  relieve  distress  because 
his  compassionate  nature  urged  him  to  it. 

It  is  worth  while  noting  that  some  moralists  have  gone 
to  the  opposite  extreme  and  have  held  that  an  act  is  not 
right  unless  it  expresses  the  overflowing  spontaneity  of  the 
affections ;  that  a  man's  act  is  only  imperfectly  right  when 
he  performs  it  not  from  affection,  but  from  coercion  by 
duty.  Thus  Emerson  speaks  of  men  who  "do  by  knowl- 
edge what  the  stones  do  by  structure."    And  again,  "We 


350        PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

love  characters  in  proportion  as  they  are  impulsive  and 
spontaneous.  When  we  see  a  soul  whose  acts  are  all  regal, 
graceful,  and  pleasant  as  roses,  we  must  thank  God  that 
such  things  can  be  and  are,  and  not  turn  sourly  on  the 
angel  and  say,  'Crump  is  a  better  man  with  his  grunting 
resistance  to  all  his  native  devils.'  "  The  facts  seem  to  be 
that  while,  in  a  good  man,  natural  impulses  and  formed 
habits  are  adequate  motive  powers  under  ordinary  condi- 
tions, there  are  times  when  an  end,  somewhat  weak  in 
its  motive  force  because  it  does  not  express  an  habitually 
dominant  power  of  the  self,  needs  to  be  reenforced  by 
associations  which  have  gathered  at  all  periods  of  his 
past  around  the  experience  of  good.  There  is  a  cer- 
tain reservoir  of  emotional  force  which,  while  far  from 
fluid,  is  capable  of  transfer  and  application,  especially 
in  a  conscientious  person.  Kant  criticizes  the  moral 
sense  theory  on  the  ground  that  "in  order  to  imagine 
the  vicious  man  tormented  with  a  sense  of  his  transgres- 
sions, it  must  first  represent  him  as  morally  good  in  the 
main  trend  of  his  character"  (Abbott,  p.  128).  Well,  a 
man  who  is  capable  of  making  appeal  to  the  sense  of  duty 
in  general,  is  the  one  in  whom  love  of  good  is  already 
dominant. 

II.  Tendency  to  Fanaticism  and  Idealization  of  Au- 
thority.— Kant's  theory  of  fixed  and  final  separation 
between  desire  and  reason  leads  us  into  a  fatal  dilemma ; 
either  a  right  end  is  impossible,  or  any  end  is  right 
provided  we  fall  back  on  a  belief  that  it  is  our  duty 
to  perform  it.  Kant  holds  that  every  concrete  end, 
every  definite  purpose  which  we  entertain,  comes  from 
desire.  Law  utters  no  specific  command  except  "do  your 
duty" ;  it  stamps  an  end  of  desire  as  right  only  when  it  is 
pursued,  not  because  it  is  an  end  of  desire,  but  "from 
duty."  The  actual  end  which  is  before  us  is,  in  any 
case,  supplied  through  inclination  and  desire.  Reason 
furnishes  principle  as   a  motive.     We  have  here,  in  an- 


KANTIAN  THEORY  351 

other  form,  the  separation  of  end  and  motive  which  has 
already  occupied  us  (p.  248).  End  and  motive  are  so 
disconnected,  so  irrelevant  to  one  another,  that  we  have 
no  alternative  except  either  to  condemn  every  end,  be- 
cause, being  prompted  by  desire,  it  falls  so  far  short  of 
the  majesty  of  duty;  or  else  fanatically  to  persist  in  any 
course  when  once  we  have  formally  brought  it  under  the 
notion  of  duty. 

The  latter  alternative  would  be  the  one  chosen  by  a  truly 
Kantian  agent  because  it  is  alone  possible  in  practice. 
But  the  moral  fanatic  does  about  as  much  evil  in  the  world 
as  the  man  of  no  moral  principle.  Religious  wars,  perse- 
cutions, intolerance,  harsh  judgment  of  others,  obstinate 
persistence  in  a  course  of  action  once  entered  upon  in  spite 
of  the  testimony  of  experience  to  the  harm  that  results; 
blind  devotion  to  narrow  and  one-sided  aims;  deliberate 
opposition  to  art,  culture,  social  amenities,  recreations,  or 
whatever  the  "man  of  principle"  happens  to  find  obnox- 
ious :  Pharisaical  conviction  of  superiority,  of  being  the 
peculiar,  chosen  instrument  of  the  moral  law ; — these  and 
the  countless  ills  that  follow  in  their  wake,  are  inevitable  ef- 
fects of  erecting  the  isolated  conviction  of  duty  into  a  suf- 
ficient motive  of  action.  So  far  as  these  evils  do  not 
actually  flow  from  an  acceptance  of  the  Kantian  principle, 
it  is  because  that  has  been  promulgated  and  for  the  most 
part  adopted,  where  reverence  for  authority  and  law  is 
strong.  In  Germany  the  Kantian  philosophy  has,  upon 
the  whole,  served  as  a  help  in  criticizing  law  and  procedure 
on  the  basis  of  their  rationality,  while  it  has  also  served 
as  a  convenient  stamp  of  rational  sanction  upon  a  politic- 
ally authoritative  regime,  already  fairly  reasonable,  as 
such  matters  go,  in  the  content  of  its  legislation  and 
administration. 

III.  Meaning  of  Duty  for  Duty's  Sake. — It  is  a  sound 
principle  to  do  our  duty  as  our  duty,  and  not  for  the  sake 
of  something  else.    "Duty  for  duty's  sake"  means,  in  truth, 


352        PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

an  act  for  the  act*s  own  sake;  the  gift  of  cold  water,  the 
word  of  encouragement,  the  sweeping  of  the  room,  the 
learning  of  the  lesson,  the  selling  of  the  goods,  the  paint- 
ing of  the  picture,  because  they  are  the  things  really 
called  for  at  a  given  time,  and  hence  their  own  excuses 
for  being.  No  moral  act  is  a  means  to  anything  beyond 
itself y — not  even  to  morality.  But,  upon  Kant's  theory, 
duty  for  duty's  sake  means  a  special  act  not  for  its  own 
sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  abstract  principle.  Just  as  the 
hedonists  regard  a  special  act  as  a  mere  means  to  happi- 
ness, so  Kant  makes  the  concrete  act  a  mere  means  to  vir- 
tue. As  there  is  a  "hedonistic  paradox,"  namely  that  the 
way  to  get  happiness  is  to  forget  it,  to  devote  ourselves 
to  things  and  persons  about  us ;  so  there  is  a  "moralistic" 
paradox,  that  the  way  to  get  goodness  is  to  cease  to  think 
of  it — as  something  separate — and  to  devote  ourselves  to 
the  realization  of  the  full  value  of  the  practical  situations 
in  which  we  find  ourselves.  Men  can  really  think  of  their 
"duty"  only  when  they  are  thinking  of  specific  things  to 
be  done;  to  think  of  Duty  at  large  or  in  the  abstract  is 
one  of  the  best  ways  of  avoiding  doing  it,  or  of  doing  it  in 
a  partial  and  perverted  way. 

Summary  of  Criticism  of  Kant. — To  sum  up,  the 
theory  which  regards  duty  as  having  its  source  in  a 
rational  self  which  is  independent  of  and  above  the  self 
of  inclination  and  affection  (1)  deprives  the  habitual 
desires  and  affections,  which  make  the  difference  between 
one  concrete  character  and  another,  of  moral  significance ; 
(2)  commits  us  to  an  unenlightened  performance  of  what 
is  called  duty  irrespective  of  its  real  goodness;  and  (3) 
makes  moral  principle  a  remote  abstraction,  instead  of  the 
vivifying  soul  of  a  concrete  deed.  Its  strongest  point,  its 
insistence  upon  the  autonomous  character  of  duty,  or  that 
duty  is  organically  connected  with  the  self  in  some  of 
its  phases  or  functions,  will  appear  more  clearly  as  we  con- 
trast it  with  the  utilitarian  theory. 


UTILITARIAN  THEORY  OF  DUTY 


§  3.    THE  UTIIilTAUIAN  THEORY  OF  DUTY 

Problem  of  Duty  on  Hedonistic  Basis. — The  utilita- 
rians' explanation  of  the  constraint  of  desire  by  the  au- 
thority of  right  is  framed  to  meet  the  peculiar  difficulty 
in  which  their  hedonistic  theory  places  them.  If  pleasure 
is  the  good,  and  if  all  desire  is  naturally  for  the  good,  why 
should  desire  have  to  be  constrained?  How  can  such  a 
thing  as  "duty"  exist  at  all?  For  to  say  that  a  man  is 
obliged  or  bound  to  seek  that  which  he  just  can't  help 
seeking  is  absurd.  There  is,  according  to  the  utilitarian, 
a  difference,  however,  between  the  pleasure  which  is  the 
object  of  desire  and  that  which  is  the  standard  of  judg- 
ment. The  former  is  the  person's  own  pleasure;  it  is 
private.  The  happiness  which  measures  the  rightness 
of  the  act  is  that  of  all  persons  who  are  affected  by  it.  In 
view  of  this  divergence,  there  must,  if  right  action  is  to 
occur,  be  agencies  which  operate  upon  the  individual  so  as 
to  make  him  find  his  personal  pleasure  in  that  which 
conduces  to  the  general  welfare.  These  influences 
are  the  expectations  and  demands  of  others  so  far  as 
they  attach  consequences  in  the  way  of  punishment,  of 
suffering,  and  of  reward  and  pleasure,  to  the  deeds  of  an 
individual. 

In  this  way  the  natural  inclination  of  an  individual  to- 
wards a  certain  pleasure,  or  his  natural  revulsion  from  a 
certain  pain,  may  be  checked  and  transformed  by  recogni- 
tion that  if  he  seeks  the  pleasure,  others  will  inflict  more 
than  an  equivalent  pain,  or  if  he  bears  the  pain,  others  will 
reward  him  with  more  than  compensating  pleasures.  In 
such  cases,  we  have  the  fact  of  duty  or  obligation.  There 
is  constraint  of  first  inclination  through  recognition  of 
superior  power,  this  power  being  asserted  in  its  expressly 
declared  intention  of  rewarding  and  penalizing  accord- 
ing as  its  prescriptions  are  or  are  not  followed.  These 
ore  the  factors:  (1)  demands,  expectations,  rules  exter- 


B54<        PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

nally  imposed;  (2)  consequences  in  the  way  of  proffered 
reward  of  pleasure,  and  penalty  of  pain;  (3)  resulting 
constraint  of  the  natural  manifestation  of  desires.  In  the 
main,  the  theory  is  based  on  the  analogy  of  legal  obliga- 
tions.^ 

(a)  Bentham's  Account. — Bentham  dislikes  the  very 
word  duty;  and  speaks  preferably  of  the  ''sanctions" 
of  an  act.  The  following  quotations  will  serve  to  confirm 
the  foregoing  statements. 

"The  happiness  of  the  individuals  of  whom  a  community  is 
composed  is  .  .  .  the  sole  standard^,  in  conformity  to  which 
each  individual  ought  to  be  made  to  fashion  his  behavior.  But 
whether  it  be  this,  or  anything  else  that  is  to  be  done,  there 
is  nothing  by  which  a  man  can  ultimately  be  made  to  do  it, 
but  either  pain  or  pleasure." 

A  kind  of  pain  or  pleasure  which  tends  to  make  an  indi- 
vidual find  his  own  good  in  the  good  of  the  community  is 
a  sanction.  Of  these  Bentham  mentions  four  kinds,  of 
which  the  first  alone  is  not  due  to  the  will  of  others,  but 
is  physical.  Thus  the  individual  may  check  his  inclination 
to  drink  by  a  thought  of  the  ills  that  flow  from  drunken- 
ness. Metaphorically,  then,  he  may  be  said  to  have  a  duty 
not  to  drink;  strictly  speaking,  however,  this  is  his  own 
obvious  interest.  The  sanctions  proper  are  (a)  political, 
consequences  in  the  way  of  pleasure  and  pain  (especially 
pain)  attached  to  injunctions  and  prohibitions  by  a  legal 
superior;  (b)  popular,  the  consequences  following  from 
the  more  indefinite  influence  of  public  opinion — such  as 
being  "sent  to  Coventry,"  being  shunned,  rendered  un- 
popular, losing  reputation,  or  honor,  etc.;  and  (3)  reli- 
gious, penalties  of  hell  and  rewards  of  heaven  attached  to 
action  by  a  divine  being,  or  similar  penances  and  rewards 

*  Historically  it  has  often  taken  theological  form.  Thus  Paley 
defined  virtue  as  "doing  good  to  mankind  in  obedience  to  the  will 
of  God,  and  for  the  sake  of  everlasting  happiness."  Of  obligation 
he  said,  "A  man  is  said  to  be  obliged,  when  he  is  urged  by  a  violent 
motive  resulting  from  the  command  of  another." 


UTILITARIAN  THEORY  OF  DUTY         355 

by  the  representatives  on  earth  (church,  priests,  etc.)  of 
this  divine  being.^ 

Value  and  Deficiencies  of  This  View. — The  strong 
point  of  this  explanation  of  duty  is  obviously  that  it  recog- 
nizes the  large,  the  very  large,  role  played  by  social  insti- 
tutions, regulations,  and  demands  in  bringing  home  to  a 
person  the  fact  that  certain  acts,  whether  he  is  natu- 
rally so  inclined  or  not,  should  be  performed.  But  its 
weak  point  is  that  it  tends  to  identify  duty  with  coercion ; 
to  change  the  "ought"  if  not  into  a  physical  "must,"  at 
least  into  the  psychological  "must"  of  fear  of  pain  and 
hope  of  pleasure.  Hope  of  reward  and  fear  of  penalty 
are  real  enough  motives  in  human  life;  but  acts  per- 
formed mainly  or  solely  on  their  account  do  not,  in  the 
unprejudiced  judgment  of  mankind,  rank  very  high  mor- 
ally. Habitually  to  appeal  to  such  motives  is  rather 
to  weaken  than  to  strengthen  the  tendencies  in  the  in- 
dividual which  make  for  right  action.  The  difficulty 
lies  clearly  in  the  purely  external  character  of  the  "sanc- 
tions," and  this  in  turn  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  obliga- 
tions imposed  by  the  demands  and  expectancies  of  others 
do  not  have  any  intrinsic  connection  with  the  character 
of  the  individual  of  whom  they  are  exacted.  They  are 
wholly  external  burdens  and  impositions. 

The  individual,  with  his  desires  and  his  pleasures,  being 
made  up  out  of  particular  states  of  feeling,  is  complete  in 
himself.  Social  relationships  must  then  be  alien  and  exter- 
nal; if  they  modify  in  any  way  the  existing  body  of  feel- 
ings they  are  artificial  constraints.  One  individual  merely 
happens  to  live  side  by  side  with  other  individuals,  who  are 

*  The  earlier  English  utilitarians  (though  not  called  by  that  name), 
such  as  Tucker  and  Paley,  assert  that  upon  this  earth  there  is  no  exact 
coincidence  of  the  right  and  the  pleasure-giving;  that  it  is  future 
rewards  and  punishments  which  make  the  equilibrium.  Sidgwick, 
among  recent  writers,  has  also  held  that  no  complete  identification 
of  virtue  and  happiness  can  be  found  apart  from  religious  con- 
siderations. (See  Methods  of  Ethics,  p.  505.  For  theological  utilitari- 
anism see  Albee,  History.) 


356        PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

in  themselves  isolated,  and  are  complete  in  their  isolation. 
If  their  external  acts  conflict,  it  may  be  necessary  to 
invade  and  change  the  body  of  feelings  which  make  up  the 
self  from  which  the  act  flows.    Hence  duty. 

The  later  development  of  utilitarianism  tended  to  get 
away  from  this  psychical  and  atomic  individualism ;  and  to 
conceive  the  good  of  an  individual  as  including  within  him- 
self relations  to  others.  So  far  as  this  was  done,  the  de- 
mands of  others,  public  opinion,  laws,  etc.,  became  factors 
in  the  development  of  the  individual,  and  in  arousing  him 
to  an  adequate  sense  of  what  his  good  is,  and  of  interest 
in  effecting  it.  Later  utilitarianism  dwells  less  than  Ben- 
tham  upon  external  sanctions,  and  more  upon  an  uncon- 
scious shaping  of  the  individual's  character  and  motives 
through  imitation,  education,  and  all  the  agencies  which 
mould  the  individual's  desires  into  natural  agreement  with 
the  social  type.  While  it  is  John  Stuart  Mill  who  insists 
most  upon  the  internal  and  qualitative  change  of  disposi- 
tion that  thus  takes  place,^  it  is  Bain  and  Spencer  who 
give  the  most  detailed  account  of  the  methods  by  which 
it  is  brought  about. 

(b)  Bain's  Account. — His  basis  agrees  with  Bentham's : 
"The  proper  meaning,  or  import,  of  the  terms  (duty,  obli- 
gation) refers  to  that  class  of  action  which  is  enforced  by 
the  sanction  of  punishment"  (Bain,  Emotions  and  Will, 
p.  286).  But  he  sets  less  store  by  political  legislation  and 
the  force  of  vague  public  opinion,  and  more  by  the  gradual 
and  subtle  processes  of  family  education.  The  lesson  of 
obedience,  that  there  are  things  to  be  done  whether  one 
wishes  or  no,  is  impressed  upon  the  child  almost  unremit- 
tingly from  the  very  first  moment  of  life.  There  are  three 
stages  in  the  complete  evolution  of  the  sense  of  duty.  The 
first,  the  lowest  and  that  beyond  which  some  persons  never 
go,  is  that  in  which  "susceptibility  to  pleasure  and  pain 

^  See  his   Utilitarianism,  ch.  iii. 


UTILITARIAN  THEORY  OF  DUTY         357 

is  made  use  of  to  bring  about  obedience,  and  a  mental  asso- 
ciation is  rapidly  formed  between  the  obedience  and  appre- 
hended pain,  more  or  less  magnified  by  fear."  The  fact 
that  punishment  may  be  kept  up  until  the  child  desists 
from  the  act  "leaves  on  his  mind  a  certain  dread  and  awful 
impression  as  connected  with  forbidden  actions."  Here 
we  have  in  its  germ  conscience,  acknowledgment  of  duty, 
in  its  most  external  form. 

A  child  in  a  good  home  (and  a  citizen  in  a  good  state) 
soon  adds  other  associations.  The  command  is  uttered, 
the  penalty  threatened,  by  those  whom  he  admires,  respects, 
and  loves.  This  element  brings  in  a  new  dread — the  fear 
of  giving  pain  to  the  beloved  object.  Such  dread  is  more 
disinterested.  It  centers  rather  about  the  point  of  view 
from  which  the  act  is  held  wrong  than  about  the  thought 
of  harm  to  self.  As  intelligence  develops,  the  person  ap- 
prehends the  positive  ends,  the  goods,  which  are  protected 
by  the  command  put  on  him;  he  sees  the  use  and  reason 
of  the  prohibition  to  which  he  is  subject,  and  approving 
of  what  it  safeguards,  approves  the  restriction  itself.  "A 
new  motive  is  added  on  and  begirds  the  action  with  a  three- 
fold fear.  ...  If  the  duty  prescribed  has  been  approved 
of  by  the  mind  as  protective  of  the  general  interests  of 
persons  engaging  our  sympathies,  the  violation  of  this  on 
our  part  affects  us  with  all  the  pain  that  we  feel  from 
inflicting  an  injury  upon  those  interests.'* 

Transformation  into  an  Internal  Power. — When  the 
child  appreciates  *Hhe  reasons  for  the  command,  the  char- 
acter of  conscience  is  entirely  transformed.'*  The  fear 
which  began  as  fear  of  the  penalty  that  a  superior  power 
may  inflict,  adds  to  itself  the  fear  of  displeasing  a  beloved 
person;  and  is  finally  transformed  into  the  dread  of  in- 
juring interests  the  worth  of  which  the  individual  appreci- 
ates and  in  which  he  shares.  The  sense  of  duty  now  "stands 
upon  an  independent  foundation."  It  is  an  internal  "ideal 
resemblance  of  public  authority,"  "an  imitation  (or  fac- 


S58        PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

simile)  within  ourselves  of  the  government  without  us." 
''Regard  is  now  had  to  the  intent  and  meaning  of  the  law 
and  not  to  the  mere  fact  of  its  being  prescribed  by  some 
power."  Thus  there  is  developed  a  sense  of  obligation  in 
general,  which  may  be  detached  from  the  particular  deeds 
which  were  originally  imposed  under  the  sanction  of  pen- 
alty, and  transferred  to  new  ends  which  have  never  even 
been  socially  imposed,  which  the  individual  has  perhaps  for 
the  first  time  conceived  within  himself.  "The  feeling  and 
habit  of  obligation"  which  was  generated  from  social  pres- 
sure remains,"  but  as  a  distinct  individually  cherished 
thing  (Bain,  Emotions  and  Will,  p.  319  n.).  This  view  of 
the  final  sense  of  obligation  thus  approximates  Kant's  view 
of  the  autonomous  character  of  duty. 

(c)  Spencer's  Account. — Herbert  Spencer  (like  Ben- 
tham)  lays  emphasis  upon  the  restraining  influence  of  va- 
rious social  influences,  but  lays  stress,  as  Bentham  does 
not,  upon  the  internal  changes  effected  by  long-continued, 
unremitting  pressure  exercised  through  the  entire  period 
of  human  evolution.  Taken  in  itself,  the  consciousness 
of  duty — the  distinctively  moral  consciousness — is  the  con- 
trol of  proximate  ends  by  remote  ones,  of  simple  by  com- 
plex aims,  of  the  sensory  or  present ative  by  the  ideal  or 
representative.  An  undeveloped  individual  or  race  lives 
and  acts  in  the  present;  the  mature  is  controlled  by  fore- 
sight of  an  indefinitely  distant  future.  The  thief  who 
steals  is  actuated  by  a  simple  feeling,  the  mere  impulse  of 
acquisition ;  the  business  man  conducts  his  acquisition  in 
view  of  highly  complex  considerations  of  property  and 
ownership.  A  low-grade  intelligence  acts  only  upon 
sensory  stimulus,  immediately  present;  a  developed  mind 
is  moved  by  elaborate  intellectual  constructions,  by  imag- 
inations and  ideas  which  far  outrun  the  observed  or  ob- 
servable scene.  Each  step  of  the  development  of  intelli- 
gence, of  culture,  whether  in  the  individual  or  the  race, 
is  dependent  upon  ability  to  subordinate  the  immediate 


UTILITARIAN  THEORY  OF  DUTY        359 

simple,  physically  present  tendency  and  aim  to  the  re- 
mote, compound,  and  only  ideally  present  intention  (Spen- 
cer, Principles  of  Ethics,  Vol.  I.,  Part  I.,  ch.  vii.). 

Subordination  of  Near  to  Remote  Good  Dependent 
on  Social  Influences — "The  conscious  relinquishment  of 
immediate  and  special  good  to  gain  distant  and  general 
good  ...  is  a  cardinal  trait  of  the  self-restraint  called 
moral."  But  this  develops  out  of  forms  of  restraint  which 
are  not  moral;  where  the  "relinquishment"  and  subordi- 
nation of  the  present  and  temporary  good  is  not  con- 
sciously willed  by  the  individual  in  view  of  a  conscious  ap- 
preciation of  a  distant  and  inclusive  good;  but  where 
action  in  view  of  the  latter  is  forced  upon  the  individual 
by  outside  authority,  operating  by  menace,  and  having 
the  sanction  of  fear.  These  outside  controls  are  three  in 
number:  political  or  legal;  supernatural,  priestly,  or  reli- 
gious ;  and  popular.  All  these  external  controls,  working 
through  dread  of  pain  and  promise  of  reward,  bring 
about,  however,  in  the  individual  a  habit  of  looking  to  the 
remote,  rather  than  to  the  proximate,  end.  At  first  the 
thought  of  these  extrinsic  consequences,  those  which  do 
not  flow  from  the  act  but  from  the  reaction  of  others  to 
it,  is  mixed  up  with  the  thought  of  its  own  proper  conse- 
quences. But  this  association  causes  attention  at  least 
to  be  fixed  upon  intrinsic  consequences  that,  because  of 
their  remoteness  and  complexity,  might  otherwise  escape 
attention.  Gradually  the  thought  of  them  grows  in  clear- 
ness and  efficacy  and  dissociates  itself  as  a  motive  from 
the  externally  imposed  consequences,  and  there  is  a  control 
which  alone  is  truly  moral. 

The  Internal  Sanction. — 

**The  truly  moral  deterrent  from  murder,  is  not  constituted 
by  a  representation  of  hanging  as  a  consequence,  or  by  a  rep- 
resentation of  tortures  in  hell  as  a  consequence,  or  by  a  repre- 
sentation of  the  horror  and  hatred  excited  in  fellow-men;  but 
by  a  representation  of  the  necessary  natural  results — the  in- 


360        PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

fliction  of  death  agony  on  the  victim,  the  destruction  of  all 
his  possibilities  of  happiness,  tlie  entailed  sufferings  to  his 
belongings"  (Spencer,  Ibid.,  p.  120). 

The  external  constraints  thus  serve  as  a  schoolmaster  to 
bring  the  race  and  the  individual  to  internal  restraint. 
Gradually  the  abstract  sense  of  coerciveness,  authoritative- 
ness,  the  need  of  controlling  the  present  by  the  future  good 
is  disentangled,  and  there  arises  the  sense  of  duty  in  gen- 
eral. But  even  this  "is  transitory  and  will  diminish  as  fast 
as  moralization  increases"  (Ibid.,  p.  127).  Persistence  in 
performance  of  a  duty  makes  it  a  pleasure ;  an  habitually 
exercised  obligation  is  naturally  agreeable. 

In  the  present  state  of  evolutionary  development,  obliga- 
tion, or  the  demands  made  by  the  external  environment,  and 
spontaneous  inclination,  or  the  demand  of  the  organism, 
cannot  coincide.  But  at  the  goal  of  evolution,  the  organism 
and  environment  will  be  in  perfect  adjustment.  Actions 
congenial  to  the  former  and  appropriate  to  the  latter  will 
completely  coincide.  "In  their  proper  times  and  places, 
and  proportions,  the  moral  sentiments  will  guide  men  just 
as  spontaneously  and  adequately  as  now  do  the  sensations" 
(Ibid.,  p.  129). 

Criticism  of  Utilitarianism. — The  utilitarian  account 
of  the  development  of  the  consciousness  of  duty  or  its 
emphasis  upon  concrete  facts  of  social  arrangements  and 
education  affords  a  much-needed  supplement  to  the  empty 
and  abstract  formalism  of  Kant,  (i.)  The  individual  is 
certainly  brought  to  his  actual  recognition  of  specific  duties 
and  to  his  consciousness  of  obligation  or  moral  law  in  gen- 
eral through  social  influences.  Bain  insists  more  upon  the 
family  training  and  discipline  of  its  immature  members; 
Bentham  and  Spencer  more  upon  the  general  institutional 
conditions,  or  the  organization  of  government,  law,  judi- 
cial procedure,  crystallized  custom,  and  public  opinion.  In 
reality,  these  two  conditions  imply  and  reenforce  each 
other.    It  is  through  the  school  of  the  family,  for  the  most 


UTILITARIAN  THEORY  OF  DUTY        361 

part,  that  the  meaning  of  the  requirements  of  the  larger 
and  more  permanent  institutions  are  brought  home  to 
the  individual ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  family  derives 
the  aims  and  values  which  it  enforces  upon  the  attention 
of  its  individual  members  mainly  from  the  larger  society 
in  which  it  finds  its  own  setting.  (ii.)  The  later  utilita- 
rianism, in  its  insistence  upon  an  "internal  sanction,"  upon 
the  ideal  personal,  or  free  facsimile  of  public  authority, 
upon  regard  for  "intrinsic  consequences,"  corrects  the 
weak  point  in  Bentham  (who  relies  so  unduly  upon  mere 
threat  of  punishment  and  mere  fear  of  pain)  and  approxi- 
mates in  practical  effect,  though  not  in  theory,  Kant's 
doctrine  of  the  connection  of  duty  with  the  rational  or 
"larger"  self  which  is  social,  even  if  individual.  Even  in 
its  revised  version  utilitarianism  did  not  wholly  escape 
from  the  rigid  unreal  separation  between  the  selfhood 
of  the  agent  and  his  social  surroundings  forced  upon  it 
by  its  hedonistic  psychology. 

Fictitious  Theory  of  Nature  of  Self. — ^The  supposition 
that  the  individual  starts  with  mere  love  of  private  pleas- 
ure, and  that,  if  he  ever  gets  beyond  to  consideration  of  the 
good  of  others,  it  is  because  others  have  forced  their  good 
upon  him  by  interfering  with  his  private  pleasures,  is  pure 
fiction.  The  requirements,  encouragements,  and  approba- 
tions of  others  react  not  primarily  upon  the  pleasures  and 
calculations  of  the  individual,  but  upon  his  activities,  upon 
his  inclinations,  desires,  habits.  There  is  a  common  defect 
in  the  utilitarian  and  Kantian  psychology.  Both  neglect 
the  importance  of  the  active,  the  organically  spontaneous 
and  direct  tendencies  which  enter  into  the  individual. 
Both  assume  unreal  "states  of  consciousness,"  passive 
sensations,  and  feehngs.  Active  tendencies  may  be  inter- 
nally modified  and  redirected  by  the  very  conditions  and 
consequences  of  their  own  exercise.  Family  discipline, 
jural  influences,  public  opinion,  may  do  little,  or  they  may 
do  much.    But  their  educative  influence  is  as  far  from  the 


362        PLACE  OF  DUTY  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

mere  association  of  feelings  of  pleasure  and  pain  as  it  is 
from  Kant's  purely  abstract  law.  Social  influences  enable 
an  individual  to  realize  the  weight  and  import  of  the 
socially  available  and  helpful  manifestations  of  the  tend- 
encies of  his  own  nature  and  to  discriminate  them  from 
those  which  are  socially  harmful  or  useless.  When  the 
two  conflict,  the  perception  of  the  former  is  the  recog- 
nition of  duties  as  distinct  from  mere  inclinations. 


§  3.    FINAL  STATEMENT 

Duty  and  a  Growing  Character. — Duty  is  what  is  owed 
by  a  partial  isolated  self  embodied  in  established,  facile,  and 
urgent  tendencies,  to  that  ideal  self  which  is  presented  in 
aspirations  which,  since  they  are  not  yet  formed  into 
habits,  have  no  organized  hold  upon  the  self  and  which 
can  get  organized  into  habitual  tendencies  and  interests 
only  by  a  more  or  less  painful  and  difficult  reconstruction 
of  the  habitual  self.  For  Kant's  fixed  and  absolute  separa- 
tion between  the  self  of  inclination  and  the  self  of  reason, 
we  substitute  the  relative  and  shifting  distinction  between 
those  factors  of  self  which  have  become  so  definitely  or- 
ganized into  set  habits  that  they  take  care  of  themselves, 
and  those  other  factors  which  are  more  precarious,  less 
crystallized,  and  which  depend  therefore  upon  conscious 
acknowledgment  and  intentionally  directed  affection.  The 
consciousness  of  duty  grows  out  of  the  complex  character 
of  the  self;  the  fact  that  at  any  given  time,  it  has  tend- 
encies relatively  set,  ingrained,  and  embodied  in  fixed 
habits,  while  it  also  has  tendencies  in  process  of  making, 
looking  to  the  future,  taking  account  of  unachieved  pos- 
sibilities. The  former  give  the  solid  relatively  formed 
elements  of  character;  the  latter,  its  ideal  or  unrealized 
possibilities.  Each  must  play  into  the  other;  each  must 
help  the  other  out. 

The   conflict   gf   duty   and   desire   is    thu§   an   accom- 


FINAL  STATEMENT  S6S 

paniment  of  a  growing  self.  Spencer's  complete  disap- 
pearance of  obligation  would  mean  an  exhausted  and  fossil- 
ized self ;  wherever  there  is  progress,  tension  arises  between 
what  is  already  accomplished  and  what  is  possible.  In  a 
being  whose  "reach  should  exceed  his  grasp,"  a  conflict 
within  the  self  making  for  the  readjustment  of  the  direc- 
tion of  powers  must  always  be  found.  The  value  of  con- 
tinually having  to  meet  the  expectations  and  requirements 
of  others  is  in  keeping  the  agent  from  resting  on  his  oars, 
from  falling  back  on  habits  already  formed  as  if  they 
were  final.  The  phenomena  of  duty  in  all  their  forms  are 
thus  phenomena  attendant  upon  the  expansion  of  ends 
and  the  reconstruction  of  character.  So  far,  accordingly, 
as  the  recognition  of  duty  is  capable  of  operating  as  a 
distinct  reen forcing  motive,  it  operates  most  effectively, 
not  as  an  interest  in  duty,  or  law  in  the  abstract,  but  as 
an  interest  in  progress  in  the  face  of  the  obstacles  found 
within  character  itself. 


LITERATURE 

The  most  important  references  on  the  subject  of  duty  are  given 
in  the  text.  To  these  may  be  added:  Ladd,  Philosophy  of  Conduct, 
chs.  V.  and  xv.;  Mackenzie,  Manual,  Part  I.,  ch.  iv.;  Green,  Prole- 
gomena, pp.  315-320,  353-354  and  381-388;  Sharp,  International  Jour- 
nal of  Ethics,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  500-513;  Muirhead,  Elements  of  Ethics, 
Book  II.,  ch.  ii.;  McGilvary,  Philosophical  Review,  Vol.  XI.,  pp.  333- 
352;  Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  pp.  161-171;  Sturt,  International 
Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  VII.,  334-345;  Schurman,  Philosophical  Be- 
view,  Vol.  III.,  pp.  641-654;  Guyau,  Sketch  of  Morals,  without  Obliga- 
tion or  Sanction. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  PLACE  OF  THE  SELF  IN  THE  MORAL  LIFE 

We  have  reached  the  conclusion  that  disposition  as 
manifest  in  endeavor  is  the  seat  of  moral  worth,  and  that 
this  worth  itself  consists  in  a  readiness  to  regard  the  gen- 
eral happiness  even  against  contrary  promptings  of  per- 
sonal comfort  and  gain.  This  brings  us  to  the  problems 
connected  with  the  nature  and  functions  of  the  self.  We 
shall,  in  our  search  for  the  moral  self,  pass  in  review  the 
conceptions  which  find  morality  in  ( 1 )  Self-Denial  or  Self- 
Sacrifice,  (2)  Self -Assertion,  (3)  Combination  of  Regard 
for  Self  and  for  Others,  (4)  Self -Realization. 

§  1.    THE  DOCTRINE  OF  SELF-DENIAIi 

Widespread  Currency  of  the  Doctrine. — The  notion 
that  real  goodness,  or  virtue,  consists  essentially  in  abnega- 
tion of  the  self,  in  denying  and,  so  far  as  may  be,  elimi- 
nating everything  that  is  of  the  nature  of  the  self,  is  one 
of  the  oldest  and  most  frequently  recurring  notions  of 
moral  endeavor  and  religion,  as  well  as  of  moral  theory.  It 
describes  Buddhism  and,  in  large  measure,  the  monastic 
ideal  of  Christianity,  while,  in  Protestantism,  Puritanism 
is  permeated  with  its  spirit.  It  characterized  Cynicism 
and  Stoicism.  Kant  goes  as  far  as  to  say  that  every  ra- 
tional being  must  wish  to  be  wholly  free  from  inclinations. 
Popular  morality,  while  not  going  so  far  as  to  hold  that 
all  moral  goodness  is  self-denial,  yet  more  or  less  definitely 
assumes  that  self-denial  on  its  own  account,  irrespective  of 
what  comes  out  of  it,  is  morally  praiseworthy.  A  notion 
so  deeply  rooted  and  widely  flourishing  must  have  strong 

364 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  SELF-DENIAL        365 

motives  in  its  favor,  all  the  more  so  because  its  practical 
vogue  is  always  stronger  than  any  reasons  which  are  theo- 
retically set  forth. 

Origin  of  the  Doctrine. — The  notion  arises  from  the 
tendency  to  identify  the  self  with  one  of  its  own  factors. 
It  is  one  and  the  same  self  which  conceives  and  is  interested 
in  some  generous  and  ideal  good  that  is  also  tempted  by 
some  near,  narrow,  and  exclusive  good.  The  force  of  the 
latter  resides  in  the  habitual  self,  in  purposes  which  have 
got  themselves  inwrought  into  the  texture  of  ordinary 
character.  Hence  there  is  a  disposition  to  overlook  the 
complexity  of  selfhood,  and  to  identify  it  with  those  fac- 
tors in  the  self  which  resist  ideal  aspiration,  and  which  are 
recalcitrant  to  the  thought  of  duty;  to  identify  the  self 
with  impulses  that  are  inclined  to  what  is  frivolous,  sen- 
suous and  sensual,  pleasure-seeking.  All  vice  being,  then, 
egoism,  selfishness,  self-seeking,  the  remedy  is  to  check  it 
at  its  roots ;  to  keep  the  self  down  in  its  proper  piece,  deny- 
ing it,  chastening  it,  mortifying  it,  refusing  to  listen  to  its 
promptings.  Ignoring  the  variety  and  subtlety  of  the 
factors  that  make  up  the  self,  all  the  different  elements  of 
right  and  of  wrong  are  gathered  together  and  set  over 
against  each  other.  All  the  good  is  placed  once  for  all  in 
some  outside  source,  some  higher  law  or  ideal;  and  the 
source  of  all  evil  is  placed  within  the  corrupted  and  vile 
self.  When  one  has  become  conscious  of  the  serious  nature 
of  the  moral  struggle ;  has  found  that  vice  is  easy,  and  to 
err  "natural,"  needing  only  to  give  way  to  some  habitual 
impulse  or  desire;  that  virtue  is  arduous,  requiring  re- 
sistance and  strenuous  effort,  one  is  apt  to  overlook  the 
habitual  tendencies  which  are  the  ministers  of  the  higher 
goods.  One  forgets  that  unless  ideal  ends  were  also 
rooted  in  some  natural  tendencies  of  the  self,  they  could 
neither  occur  to  the  self  nor  appeal  to  the  self.  Hence 
everything  is  swept  into  the  idea  that  the  self  is  inherently 
so  evil  that  it  must  be  denied,  snubbed,  sacrificed,  mortified. 


366         PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

In  general,  to  point  out  the  truth  which  this  theory  per- 
verts, to  emphasize  the  demand  for  constant  reconstruc- 
tion and  rearrangement  of  the  habitual  powers  of  the 
self — is  sufficient  criticism  of  it.  But  in  detail  the  the- 
ory exercises  such  pervasive  influence  that  it  is  worth 
while  to  mention  specifically  some  of  the  evils  that  accrue 
from  it. 

1.  It  so  Maims  and  Distorts  Human  Nature  as  to 
Narrow  the  Conception  of  the  Good. — In  its  legitimate 
antagonism  to  pleasure-seeking,  it  becomes  a  foe  to  happi- 
ness, and  an  implacable  enemy  of  all  its  elements.  Art  is 
suspected,  for  beauty  appeals  to  the  lust  of  the  eye.  Fam- 
ily life  roots  in  sexual  impulses,  and  property  in  love  of 
power,  gratification,  and  luxury.  Science  springs  from  the 
pride  of  the  intellect ;  the  State  from  the  pride  of  will.  As- 
ceticism is  the  logical  result ;  a  purely  negative  conception 
of  virtue.  But  it  surely  does  dishonor,  not  honor,  to  the 
moral  life  to  conceive  it  as  mere  negative  subjection  of  the 
flesh,  mere  holding  under  control  the  lust  of  desire  and 
the  temptations  of  appetite.  All  positive  content,  all  lib- 
eral achievement,  is  cut  out  and  morality  is  reduced  to  a 
mere  struggle  against  solicitations  to  sin.  While  asceti- 
cism is  in  no  danger  of  becoming  a  popular  doctrine,  there 
is  a  common  tendency  to  conceive  self-control  in  this  nega- 
tive fashion ;  to  fail  to  see  that  the  important  thing  is  some 
positive  good  for  which  a  desire  is  controlled.  In  gen- 
eral we  overemphasize  that  side  of  morality  which  consists 
in  abstinence  and  not  doing  wrong. 

2.  To  Make  so  Much  of  Conflict  with  the  "Flesh,"  is 
to  Honor  the  Latter  too  Much. — It  is  to  fix  too  much 
attention  on  it.  It  is  an  open  lesson  of  psychology  that  to 
oppose  doing  an  act  by  mere  injunction  not  to  do  it,  is  to 
increase  the  power  of  the  thing  not  to  be  done,  and  to 
weaken  the  spring  and  eff*ectiveness  of  the  other  motives, 
which,  if  positively  attended  to,  might  keep  the  obnoxious 
motive  from  gaining  supremacy.     The  "expulsive  power" 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  SELF-DENIAL        367 

of  a  generous  affection  is  more  to  be  relied  upon  than  effort 
to  suppress,  which  keeps  aHve  the  very  thing  to  be  sup^ 
pressed.  The  history  of  monks  and  Puritan  saints  ahke 
is  full  of  testimony  to  the  fact  that  withdrawal  from 
positive  generous  and  wholesome  aims  reenforces  the  vital- 
ity of  the  lower  appetites  and  stimulates  the  imagination 
to  play  about  them.  Flagellation  and  fasting  work  as 
long  as  the  body  is  exhausted;  but  the  brave  organism 
reasserts  itself,  and  its  capacities  for  science,  art,  the  life 
of  the  family  and  the  State  not  having  been  cultivated, 
sheer  ineradicable  physical  instinct  is  most  likely  to  come 
to  the  front. 

3.  We  Judge  Others  by  Ourselves  Because  We  Have 
No  Other  Way  to  Judge. — It  is  impossible  for  a  man 
who  conceives  his  own  good  to  be  in  "going  without,"  in 
just  restricting  himself,  to  have  any  large  or  adequate 
idea  of  the  good  of  others.  Unconsciously  and  inevitably 
a  hardening  and  narrowing  of  the  conditions  of  the  lives 
of  others  accompanies  the  reign  of  the  Puritanic  ideal. 
The  man  who  takes  a  high  view  of  the  capacities  of  hu- 
man nature  in  itself,  who  reverences  its  possibilities  and 
is  jealous  for  their  high  maintenance  in  himself,  is  the 
one  most  likely  to  have  keen  and  sensitive  appreciation 
of  the  needs  of  others.  There  is,  moreover,  no  selfishness, 
no  neglect  of  others  more  thoroughgoing,  more  effectively 
cruel  than  that  which  comes  from  preoccupation  with  the 
attainment  of  personal  goodness,  and  this  interest  is  an 
almost  inevitable  effect  of  devotion  to  the  negative  ideal 
of  self-denial. 

4.  The  Principle  Radically  Violates  Human  Nature. 
— This  indeed  is  its  claim — that  human  nature,  just  as 
human  nature,  requires  to  have  violence  done  it.  But  the 
capacities  which  constitute  the  self  demand  fulfillment. 
The  place,  the  time,  the  manner,  the  degree,  and  the  pro- 
portion of  their  fulfillment,  require  infinite  care  and  pains, 
and  to  secure  this  attention  is  the  business  of  morals. 


368         PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

Morals  is  a  matter  of  direction,  not  of  suppression.  The 
urgency  of  desires  and  capacities  for  expression  cannot  be 
got  rid  of;  nature  cannot  be  expelled.  If  the  need  of 
happiness,  of  satisfaction  of  capacity,  is  checked  in  one 
direction,  it  will  manifest  itself  in  another.  If  the  direc- 
tion which  is  checked  is  an  unconscious  and  wholesome  one, 
that  which  is  taken  will  be  likely  to  be  morbid  and  perverse. 
The  one  who  is  conscious  of  continually  denying  himself 
cannot  rid  himself  of  the  idea  that  it  ought  to  be  "made 
up"  to  him;  that  a  compensating  happiness  is  due  him 
for  what  he  has  sacrificed,  somewhat  increased,  if  any- 
thing, on  account  of  the  unnatural  virtue  he  has  dis- 
played.^ To  be  self-sacrificing  is  to  "lay  up"  merit,  and 
this  achievement  must  surely  be  rewarded  with  happiness — 
if  not  now,  then  later.  Those  who  habitually  live  on  the 
basis  of  conscious  self-denial  are  likely  to  be  exorbitant 
in  the  demands  which  they  make  on  some  one  near  them, 
some  member  of  their  family  or  some  friend ;  likely  to  blame 
others  if  their  own  "virtue"  does  not  secure  for  itself  an 
exacting  attention  which  reduces  others  to  the  plane  of 
servility.  Often  the  doctrine  of  self-sacrifice  leads  to  an 
inverted  hedonism:  we  are  to  be  good — that  is,  to  forego 
pleasure — now,  that  we  may  have  a  greater  measure  of 
enjoyment  in  some  future  paradise  of  bliss.  Or,  the  indi- 
vidual who  has  taken  vows  of  renunciation  is  entitled  by 
that  very  fact  to  represent  spiritual  authority  on  earth 
and  to  lord  it  over  others. 


§  2.    SELF-ASSERTION 

The  idea  that  morality  consists  in  an  unbridled  asser- 
tion of  self,  in  its  forceful  aggressive  manifestation,  rarely 
receives  consistent  theoretical  formulation — possibly  be- 
cause most  men  are  so  ready  to  act  upon  it  practically 
that  explicit  acknowledgment  would  be  a  hindrance  rather 

*  Compare  the  opening  words  of  Emerson's  Essay  on  Compensation. 


SELF-ASSERTION  369 

than  a  help  to  the  idea.  But  it  is  a  doctrine  which  tends 
to  be  invoked  more  or  less  explicitly  as  a  reaction  from 
the  impotency  of  the  self-denial  dogma.  In  reference 
to  some  superior  individual  or  class,  some  leader  or  group 
of  aristocratically  ordained  leaders,  it  is  always  a  more 
or  less  conscious  principle.  Concerning  these  it  is  held  that 
ordinary  morality  holds  eventually  only  for  the  "com- 
mon herd,"  the  activities  of  the  leader  being  amenable  to 
a  higher  law  than  that  of  common  morality.^  Moreover, 
since  the  self-sacrifice  morality  is  almost  never  carried  out 
consistently — that  is,  to  the  point  of  monastic  asceticism, 
— much  popular  morality  is  an  unbalanced  combination  of 
self-sacrifice  in  some  regards  and  ruthless  self-assertion  in 
others.  It  is  not  "practicable"  to  carry  out  the  principle 
of  self-denial  everywhere;  it  is  reserved  for  the  family 
life,  for  special  religious  duties;  in  business  (which  is  busi- 
ness, not  morals),  the  proper  thing  is  aggressive  and  unre- 
mitting self-assertion.  In  business,  the  end  is  success,  to 
"make  good" ;  weakness  is  failure,  and  failure  is  disgrace, 
dishonor.  Thus  in  practice  the  two  conceptions  of  self- 
denial  in  one  region  and  self-assertion  in  another  mutually 
support  each  other.  They  give  occasion  for  the  more  or 
less  unformulated,  yet  prevalent,  idea  that  moral  consid- 
erations (those  of  self-denial)  apply  to  a  limited  phase 
of  life,  but  have  nothing  to  do  with  other  regions  in  which 
accordingly  the  principle  of  "efficiency"  (that  is,  per- 
sonal success,  wealth,  power  obtained  in  competitive  vic- 
tory) holds  supreme  sway. 

Recently,  however,  there  has  sprung  up  a  so-called 
**naturalistic"  school  of  ethics  which  has  formulated  ex- 
plicitly the  principle  of  self-assertion,  and  which  claims  to 
find  scientific  sanction  for  it  in  the  evolutionary  doctrine 
of  Darwin.  Evolution,  it  says,  is  the  great  thing,  and 
evolution  means  the  survival  of  the  fit  in  the  struggle  for 

*  The  principle  of  a  "higher  law"  for  the  few  who  are  leaders  was 
first  explicitly  asserted  in  modern  thought  by  Machiavelli. 


370         PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

existence.  Nature's  method  of  progress  is  precisely,  so  It 
is  said,  ruthless  self-assertion — to  the  strong  the  victory, 
to  the  victorious  the  spoils,  and  to  the  defeated,  woe.  Na- 
ture affords  a  scene  of  egoistic  endeavor  or  pressure,  suffer 
who  may,  of  struggle  to  get  ahead,  that  is,  ahead  of  others, 
even  by  thrusting  them  down  and  out.  But  the  justifica- 
tion of  this  scene  of  rapine  and  slaughter  is  that  out  of 
it  comes  progress,  advance,  everything  that  we  regard 
as  noble  and  fair.  Excellence  is  the  sign  of  excelling; 
the  goal  means  outrunning  others.  The  morals  of  hu- 
mility, of  obedience  to  law,  of  pity,  sympathy,  are  merely 
a  self -protective  device  on  the  part  of  the  weak  who  try 
to  safeguard  their  weakness  by  setting  fast  limitations  to 
the  activities  of  the  truly  strong  (  compare  what  was  said  of 
the  not  dissimilar  doctrine  among  the  Greeks,  pp.  120-22). 
But  the  truly  moral  man,  In  whom  the  principle  of  prog- 
ress is  embodied,  will  break  regardlessly  through  these 
meshes  and  traps.  He  will  carry  his  own  plans  through 
to  victorious  achievement.  He  is  the  super-man.  The 
mass  of  men  are  simply  food  for  his  schemes,  valuable  as 
furnishing  needed  material  and  tools. ^ 

Practical  Vogue  of  the  Underlying  Idea. — Such  a 
theory,  in  and  of  itself,  is  a  literary  diversion  for  those 
who,  not  being  competent  In  the  fields  of  outer  achievement, 
amuse  themselves  by  idealizing  It  In  writing.  Like  most 
literary  versions  of  science,  It  rests  upon  a  pseudo-science, 
a  parody  of  the  real  facts.  But  at  a  time  when  economic 
conditions  are  putting  an  extraordinary  emphasis  upon 
outward  achievement,  upon  success  In  manipulating  nat- 

*  Some  phases  of  the  writings  of  Nietzsche  supply  relevant  material 
for  this  sketch.  (See  especially  his  Will  for  Power,  Beyond  Good 
and  Evil,  and  such  statements  as:  "The  los''  of  force  which  suffering 
has  already  brought  upon  life  is  still  further  increased  and  multi- 
plied by  sympathy.  Suffering  itself  becomes  contagious  through 
sympathy"  (overlooking  the  reaction  of  sympathy  to  abolish  the  source 
of  suffering  and  thus  increase  force).  "Sympathy  thwarts,  on  the 
whole,  in  general,  the  law  of  development,  which  is  the  law  of  selec- 
Uon:''-Work8,  Vol.  XI.,  p.  242. 


SELF-ASSERTION  371 

ural  and  social  resources,  upon  "efficiency"  in  exploiting 
both  inanimate  energies  and  the  minds  and  bodies  of  other 
persons,  the  underlying  principle  of  this  theory  has  a 
sanction  and  vogue  which  is  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 
number  of  those  who  consciously  entertain  it  as  a  theory. 
For  a  healthy  mind,  the  frank  statement  and  facing  of  the 
theory  is  its  best  criticism.  Its  bald  brutalism  flourishes 
freely  only  when  covered  and  disguised.  But  in  view  of  the 
forces  at  present,  and  especially  in  America,  making  for 
a  more  or  less  unconscious  acceptance  of  its  principle  in 
practice,  it  may  be  advisable  to  say  something  (1)  re- 
garding its  alleged  scientific  foundation,  and  (S)  the 
inadequacy  of  its  conception  of  efficiency. 

I.  The  Theory  Exaggerates  the  Role  o£  Antagonistic 
Competitive  Struggle  in  the  Darwinian  Theory. — (a) 
The  initial  step  in  any  "progress"  is  variation;  this  is 
not  so  much  struggle  against  other  organisms,  as  it  is 
invention  or  discovery  of  some  new  way  of  acting,  involv- 
ing better  adaptation  of  hitherto  merely  latent  natural 
resources,  use  of  some  possible  food  or  shelter  not  previ- 
ously utilized.  The  struggle  against  other  organisms 
at  work  preserves  from  elimination  a  species  already 
fixed — quite  a  different  thing  from  the  variation  which 
occasions  the  introduction  of  a  higher  or  more  complex 
species,  (b)  Moreover,  so  far  as  the  Darwinian  theory 
is  concerned,  the  "struggle  for  existence"  may  take  any 
conceivable  form;  rivalry  in  generosity,  in  mutual  aid 
and  support,  may  be  the  kind  of  competition  best  fitted 
to  enable  a  species  to  survive.  It  not  only  may  be  so,  but 
it  is  so  within  certain  limits.  The  rage  for  survival,  for 
power,  must  not  be  asserted  indiscriminately ;  the  mate  of 
the  other  sex,  the  young,  to  some  extent  other  individuals 
of  the  same  kin,  are  spared,  or,  in  many  cases,  protected 
and  nourished.^      (c)   The  higher  the  form  of  life,  the 

*  This  phase  of  the  matter  has  been  brought  out   (possibly  with 
some  counter-exaggeration)  by  Kropotkin  in  his  Mutual  Aid, 


PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

more  effective  the  two  methods  just  suggested:  namely, 
the  method  of  intelHgence  in  discovering  and  utihzing  new 
methods,  tools,  and  resources  as  substituted  for  the  direct 
method  of  brute  conflict;  and  the  method  of  mutual  pro- 
tection and  care  substituted  for  mutual  attack  and  com- 
bat. It  is  among  the  lower  forms  of  life,  not  as  the  theory 
would  require  among  the  higher  types,  that  conditions 
approximate  its  picture  of  the  gladiatorial  show.  The 
higher  species  among  the  vertebrates,  as  among  insects 
(hke  ants  and  bees),  are  the  "sociable"  kinds.  It  is  some- 
times argued  that  Darwinism  carried  into  morals  would 
abolish  charity:  all  care  of  the  hopelessly  invalid,  of  the 
economically  dependent,  and  in  general  of  all  the  weak  and 
helpless  except  healthy  infants.  It  is  argued  that  our  cur- 
rent standards  are  sentimental  and  artificial,  aiming  to 
make  survive  those  who  are  unfit,  and  thus  tending  to 
destroy  the  conditions  that  make  for  advance,  and  to  in- 
troduce such  as  make  towards  degeneration.  But  this 
argument  (1)  wholly  ignores  the  reflex  eff^ect  of  interest 
in  those  who  are  ill  and  defective  in  strengthening  social 
solidarity — in  promoting  those  ties  and  reciprocal  inter- 
ests which  are  as  much  the  prerequisites  of  strong  indi- 
vidual characters  as  they  are  of  a  strong  social  group. 
And  (2)  it  fails  to  take  into  account  the  stimulus  to  fore- 
sight, to  scientific  discovery,  and  practical  invention,  which 
has  proceeded  from  interest  in  the  helpless,  the  weak,  the 
sick,  the  disabled,  blind,  deaf,  and  insane.  Taking  the 
most  coldly  scientific  view,  the  gains  in  these  two  respects 
have,  through  the  growth  of  social  pity,  of  care  for  the 
unfortunate,  been  purchased  more  cheaply  than  we  can 
imagine  their  being  bought  in  any  other  way.  In  other 
words,  the  chief  objection  to  this  "naturalistic"  ethics  is 
that  it  overlooks  the  fact  that,  even  from  the  Darwinian 
point  of  view,  the  human  animal  is  a  human  animal.  It 
forgets  that  the  sympathetic  and  social  instincts,  those 
which    cause    the    individual    to    take    the    interests    of 


SELF-ASSERTION  37S 

others  for  his  own  and  thereby  to  restrain  his  sheer 
brute  self-assertiveness,  are  the  highest  achievements,  the 
high-water  mark  of  evolution.  The  theory  urges  a  syste- 
matic relapse  to  lower  and  foregone  stages  of  biological 
development. 

2.  Its  Conception  of  "Power,"  "Efficiency,"  "Achieve- 
ment" is  Perverse. — Compared  with  the  gospel  of  ab- 
stinence, of  inefficiency,  preached  by  the  self-denial  school, 
there  is  an  element  of  healthy  reaction  in  any  ethical  sys- 
tem which  stresses  positive  power,  positive  success,  posi- 
tive attainment.  Goodness  has  been  too  much  identified 
with  practical  feebleness  and  ineptitude;  strength  and 
solidity  of  accomplishment,  with  unscrupulousness.  But 
power  for  the  sake  of  power  is  as  unreal  an  abstraction 
as  self-denial  for  the  sake  of  sacrifice,  or  self-restraint 
for  the  sake  of  the  mere  restraint.  Erected  into  a  central 
principle,  it  takes  means  for  end — the  fallacy  of  all  mate- 
rialism. It  makes  little  of  many  of  the  most  important 
and  excellent  inherent  ingredients  of  happiness  in  its 
eagerness  to  master  external  conditions  of  happiness. 
Sensitive  discrimination  of  complex  and  refined  distinctions 
of  worth,  such  as  good  taste,  the  resources  of  poetry  and 
history,  frank  and  varied  social  converse  among  intel- 
lectual equals,  the  humor  of  sympathetic  contemplation  of 
the  spectacle  of  life,  the  capacity  to  extract  happiness 
from  solitude  and  society,  from  nature  and  from  art : — all 
of  these,  as  well  as  the  more  obvious  virtues  of  sympathy 
and  benevolence,  are  swept  aside  for  one  coarse  undiscrim- 
inating  ideal  of  external  activity,  measured  by  sheer  quan- 
tity of  external  changes  made  and  external  results  accu- 
mulated. Of  such  an  ideal  we  may  say,  as  Mill  said, 
that  the  judge  of  good,  of  happiness,  is  the  one  who  has 
experienced  its  various  forms ;  and  that  as  "no  intelligent 
person  would  consent  to  be  a  fool"  on  account  of  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  fool,  so  no  man  of  cultivated  spirit  would 
consent  to  be  a  lover  of  "efficiency"  and  "power"  for  the 


374         PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

sake  of  brute  command  of  the  external  commodities  of 
nature  and  man. 

Present  Currency  of  This  Ideal. — In  spite  of  the  ex- 
traordinary currency  of  this  ideal  at  present,  there  is 
little  fear  that  it  will  be  permanently  established.  Human 
nature  is  too  rich  and  varied  in  its  capacities  and  demands ; 
the  world  of  nature  and  society  is  too  fruitful  in  sources 
of  stimulus  and  interest  for  man  to  remain  indefinitely 
content  with  the  idea  of  power  for  power's  sake,  command 
of  means  for  the  mere  sake  of  the  means.  Humanity  has 
long  lived  a,  precarious  and  a  stunted  life  because  of  its 
partial  and  easily  shaken  hold  on  natural  resources. 
Starved  by  centuries  of  abstinence  enforced  through  lack 
of  control  of  the  forces  and  methods  of  nature,  taught 
the  gospel  of  the  merit  of  abstention,  it  is  not  surpris- 
ing that  it  should  be  intoxicated  when  scientific  dis- 
covery bears  its  fruit  of  power  in  utilization  of  natural 
forces,  or  that,  temporarily  unbalanced,  it  should  take  the 
external  conditions  of  happiness  for  happiness  itself.  But 
when  the  values  of  material  acquisition  and  achievement 
become  familiar  they  will  lose  the  contrast  value  they  now 
possess;  and  human  endeavor  will  concern  itself  mainly 
with  the  problem  of  rendering  its  conquests  in  power  and 
efficiency  tributary  to  the  life  of  intelligence  and  art  and 
of  social  communication.^  Such  a  moral  idealism  will  rest 
upon  a  more  secure  and  extensive  natural  foundation  than 
that  of  the  past,  and  will  be  more  equitable  in  applica- 

^  Spencer  puts  the  matter  truly,  if  ponderously,  in  the  following: 
"The  citizens  of  a  large  nation  industrially  organized,  have  reached 
their  possible  ideal  of  happiness  when  the  producing,  distributing 
and  other  activities,  are  such  in  their  kinds  and  amounts,  that  each 
individual  finds  in  them  a  place  for  all  his  energies  and  aptitudes, 
while  he  obtains  the  means  of  satisfying  all  his  desires.  Once  more 
we  may  recognize  as  not  only  possible,  but  probable,  the  eventual 
existence  of  a  community,  also  industrial,  the  members  of  which, 
having  natures  similarly  responding  to  these  requirements,  are  also 
characterized  by  dominant  aesthetic  faculties,  and  achieve  complete 
happiness  only  when  a  large  part  of  life  is  filled  with  aesthetic  activi- 
ties"  (Principles  of  Ethics,  Vol.  I.,  p.  169). 


SELF-LOVE  AND  BENEVOLENCE  375 

tion  and  saner  in  content  than  that  with  which  aristocra- 
cies have  made  us  f amihar.  It  will  be  a  democratic  ideal, 
a  good  for  all,  not  for  a  noble  class ;  and  it  will  include, 
not  exclude,  those  physical  and  physiological  factors  which 
aristocratic  idealisms  have  excluded  as  common  and 
unclean. 


§  S.    SELF-LOVE    AND    BENEVOLENCE ;    OR,    EGOISM    AND 
ALTRUISM 

For  the  last  three  centuries,  the  most  discussed  point 
in  English  ethical  literature  (save  perhaps  whether  moral 
knowledge  is  intuitive  or  derived  from  experience)  has 
been  the  relation  of  regard  for  one's  own  self  and  for 
other  selves  as  motives  of  action — "the  crux  of  all  ethical 
speculation,"  Spencer  terms  it.  All  views  have  been  rep- 
resented: (a)  that  man  naturally  acts  from  purely  selfish 
motives  and  that  morality  consists  in  an  enforced  sub- 
jection of  self-love  to  the  laws  of  a  common  social  order, 
(b)  That  man  is  naturally  selfish,  while  morality  is  an 
"enlightened  selfishness,"  or  a  regard  for  self  based  upon 
recognition  of  the  extent  to  which  its  happiness  requires 
consideration  of  others,  (c)  That  the  tendencies  of  the 
agent  are  naturally  selfish,  but  that  morahty  is  the  sub- 
jection of  these  tendencies  to  the  law  of  duty,  (d)  That 
man's  interests  are  naturally  partly  egoistic  and  partly 
sympathetic,  while  morality  is  a  compromise  or  adjustment 
of  these  tendencies,  (e)  That  man's  interests  are  naturally 
both,  and  morality  a  subjection  of  both  to  conscience  as 
umpire,  (f )  That  they  are  both,  while  morality  is  a  sub- 
jection of  egoistic  to  benevolent  sentiments,  (g)  That  the 
individual's  interests  are  naturally  in  objective  ends  which 
primarily  are  neither  egoistic  nor  altruistic;  and  these 
ends  become  either  selfish  or  benevolent  at  special  crises, 
at  which  times  morality  consists  in  referring  them,  equally 
and  impartially   for  judgment,   to  a   situation  in  which 


376         PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

the  interests  of  the  self  and  of  others  concerned  are  In- 
volved: to  a  common  good. 

Three  Underlying  Psychological  Principles. — ^We  shall 
make  no  attempt  to  discuss  these  various  views  in  detail; 
but  will  bring  into  relief  some  of  the  factors  in  the  discussion 
which  substantiate  the  view  (g)  stated  last.  It  will  be 
noted  that  the  theories  rank  themselves  under  three  heads 
with  reference  to  the  constitution  of  man's  tendencies: 
holding  they  (1)  naturally  have  in  view  personal  ends  ex- 
clusively or  all  fall  under  the  principle  of  self-love  or  self- 
regard  ;  that  ( 2 )  some  of  them  contemplate  one's  own  hap- 
piness and  some  of  them  that  of  others  ;  that  (3)  primarily 
they  are  not  consciously  concerned  with  either  one's  own 
happiness  or  that  of  others.  Memory  and  reflection  may 
show  (just  as  it  shows  other  things)  that  their  conse- 
quences affect  both  the  self  and  others,  when  the  recogni- 
tion of  this  fact  becomes  ah  additional  element,  either  for 
good  or  for  evil,  in  the  motivation  of  the  act.  We  shall 
consider,  first,  the  various  senses  in  which  action  occurs, 
or  is  said  to  occur,  in  behalf  of  the  person's  own  self; 
and  then  take  up,  in  similar  fashion,  its  reference  to  the 
interests  of  others. 

I.  Action  in  Behalf  of  Self. — 1.  Motives  as  Selfish: 
The  Natural  Selfishness  of  Man  is  maintained  from  such 
different  standpoints  and  with  such  different  objects  in 
view  that  it  is  difficult  to  state  the  doctrine  in  any  one 
generalized  form.  By  some  theologians,  it  has  been  asso- 
ciated with  an  innate  corruption  or  depravity  of  human 
nature  and  been  made  the  basis  of  a  demand  for  super- 
natural assistance  to  lead  a  truly  just  and  benevolent  life. 
By  Hobbes  (1588-1679)  it  was  associated  with  the  anti- 
social nature  of  individuals  and  made  the  basis  for  a  plea 
for  a  strong  and  centralized  political  authority  ^  to  con- 

*  Machiavelli,  transferring  from  theology  to  statecraft  the  notion 
of  the  corruption  and  selfishness  of  all  men,  was  the  fir^t  modera 
to  preach  this  doctrine. 


SELF-LOVE  AND  BENEVOLENCE  377 

trol  the  natural  "war  of  all  against  all"  which  flows  in- 
evitably from  the  psychological  egoism.  By  Kant,  it  was 
connected  with  the  purely  sense  origin  of  desires,  and 
made  the  basis  for  a  demand  for  the  complete  subordina- 
tion of  desire  to  duty  as  a  motive  for  action.  Morals,  like 
politics,  make  strange  bedfellows !  The  common  factor  in 
these  diverse  notions,  however,  is  that  every  act  of  a  self 
must,  when  left  to  its  7iatural  or  psychological  course, 
have  the  interest  of  the  self  in  view ;  otherwise  there  would 
be  no  motive  for  the  deed  and  it  would  not  be  done.  This 
theoretical  and  a  priori  view  is  further  supported  by  point- 
ing out,  sometimes  in  reprobation  of  man's  sinful  nature, 
sometimes  in  a  more  or  less  cynical  vein,  the  lurking  pres- 
ence of  some  subtle  regard  for  self  in  acts  that  apparently 
are  most  generous  and  "disinterested."  ^ 

Ambiguity  of  the  Psychological  Basis. — The  notion 
that  all  action  is  "for  the  self"  is  infected  with  the  same 
ambiguity  as  the  (analogous)  doctrine  that  all  desire 
is  for  happiness.  Like  that  doctrine,  in  one  sense  it  is 
a  truism,  in  another  a  falsity — this  latter  being  the  sense 
in  which  its  upholders  maintain  it.  Psychologically,  any 
object  that  moves  us,  any  object  in  which  we  imagine  our 
impulses  to  rest  satisfied  or  to  find  fulfillment,  becomes^  in 
virtue  of  that  fact,  a  factor  in  the  self.  If  I  am  enough 
interested  in  collecting  postage  stamps,  a  collection  of 
postage  stamps  becomes  a  part  of  my  "ego,"  which  is  in- 
complete and  restless  till  filled  out  in  that  way.  If  my 
habits  are  such  that  I  am  not  content  when  I  know  my 
neighbor  is  suffering  from  a  lack  of  food  until  I  have 
relieved  him,  then  relief  of  his  suffering  becomes  a  part 
of  my  selfhood.  If  my  desires  are  such  that  I  have  no 
rest  of  mind  until  I  have  beaten  my  competitor  in  busi- 
ness, or  have  demonstrated  my  superiority  in  social  gifts 
by  putting  my  fellow  at  some  embarrassing  disadvantage, 

*  See,  for  example,  Hobbes,  Leviathan;  Mandeville,  Fable  of  the 
B^€s;  and  Rochefoucauld,  Maxims. 


378         PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

then  that  sort  of  thing  constitutes  my  self.  Our  instincts, 
impulses,  and  habits  all  demand  appropriate  objects  in 
order  to  secure  exercise  and  expression;  and  these  ends 
in  their  office  of  furnishing  outlet  and  satisfaction  to  our 
powers  form  a  cherished  part  of  the  "me."  In  this  sense 
it  is  true,  and  a  truism,  that  all  action  involves  the  inter- 
est of  self. 

True  and  False  Interpretation. — But  this  doctrine  is 
the  exact  opposite  of  that  intended  by  those  who  claim 
that  all  action  is  from  self-love.  The  true  doctrine  says, 
the  self  is  constituted  and  developed  through  instincts  and 
interests  which  are  directed  upon  their  own  objects  with 
no  conscious  regard  necessarily  for  anything  except  those 
objects  themselves.  The  false  doctrine  implies  that  the 
self  exists  by  itself  apart  from  these  objective  ends,  and 
that  they  are  merely  means  for  securing  it  a  certain  profit 
or  pleasure. 

Suppose,  for  example,  it  is  a  case  of  being  so  disturbed 
in  mind  by  the  thought  of  another  in  pain  that  one  is 
moved  to  do  something  to  relieve  him.  This  means  that 
certain  native  instincts  or  certain  acquired  habits  demand 
relief  of  others  as  part  of  themselves.  The  well-being  of 
the  other  is  an  interest  of  the  self:  is  a  part  of  the  self. 
This  is  precisely  what  is  meant  ordinarily  by  unselfish- 
ness: not  lack  or  absence  of  a  self,  but  such  a  self  as 
identifies  itself  in  action  with  others'  interests  and  hence 
is  satisfied  only  when  they  are  satisfied.  To  find  pain  in 
the  thought  of  others  pained  and  to  take  pleasure  in  the 
thought  of  their  relief,  is  to  have  and  to  be  moved  by 
personal  motives,  by  states  which  are  "selfish"  in  the  sense 
of  making  up  the  self;  but  which  are  the  exact  opposite 
of  selfish  in  the  sense  of  being  the  thought  of  some  private 
advantage  to  self .^     Putting  it  roundly,  then,  the  fallacy 

*  Compare  what  was  said  above,  p.  273,  on  the  confusion  of 
pleasure  as  end,  and  as  motive.  Compare  also  the  following  from 
Leslie  Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  p.  24-1.     It  is  often  "insinuated 


SELF-LOVE  AND  BENEVOLENCE  379 

of  the  selfish  motive  theory  is  that  it  fails  to  see  that 
instincts  and  habits  directed  upon  objects  are  primary, 
and  that  they  come  before  any  conscious  thought  of  self 
as  end,  since  they  are  necessary  to  the  constitution  of 
that  thought. 

The  following  quotation  from  James  ^  states  the  true 
doctrine : 

"When  I  am  led  by  selflove  to  keep  my  seat  whilst  ladies 
stand,  or  to  grab  something  first  and  cut  out  my  neighbor, 
what  I  really  love  is  the  comfortable  seat;  it  is  the  thing 
itself  which  I  grab.  I  love  them  primarily,  as  the  mother 
loves  her  babe,  or  a  generous  man  an  heroic  deed.  Wherever, 
as  here,  selfseeking  is  the  outcome  of  simple  instinctive  pro- 
pensity, it  is  but  a  name  for  certain  reflex  acts.  Something 
rivets  my  attention  fatally  and  fatally  provokes  the  'selfish* 
response.  ...  It  is  true  I  am  no  automaton,  but  a  thinker. 
But  my  thoughts,  like  my  acts,  are  here  concerned  only  with 
the  outward  things.  ...  In  fact  the  more  utterly  selfish  I 
am  in  this  primitive  way,  the  more  blindly  absorbed  my 
thought  will  be  in  the  objects  and  impulses  of  my  lust  and 
the  more  devoid  of  any  inward  looking  glance." 

2.   Results   as   Selfish:   Ambiguity   in   the   Notion 

We  must  then  give  up  the  notion  that  motives  are  inher- 
ently self-seeking,  in  the  sense  that  there  is  in  voluntary 
acts  a  thought  of  the  self  as  the  end  for  the  sake  of  which 
the  act  is  performed.  The  self-seeking  doctrine  may, 
however,  be  restated  in  these  terms:  Although  there  is 
no  thought  of  self  or  its  advantage  consciously  enter- 
tained, yet  our  original  instincts  are  such  that  their 
objects  do  as  matter  of  result  conduce  primarily  to  the 
well-being  and  advantage  of  the  self.    In  this  sense,  anger, 

that  I  dislike  your  pain  because  it  is  painful  to  me  in  some  special 
relation.  I  do  not  dislike  it  as  your  pain,  but  in  virtue  of  some 
particular  consequence,  such,  for  example,  as  its  making  you  less 
able  to  render  me  a  service.  In  that  case  I  do  not  really  object 
to  your  pain  as  your  pain  at  all,  but  only  to  some  removable  and 
accidental  consequences."  The  entire  discussion  of  sympathy  (pp. 
030-245),  which  is  admirable,  should  be  consulted. 

=*  Psychology,  Vol.  I.,  p.  320.  The  whole  discussion,  pp.  317-329, 
is  very  important. 


380        PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

fear,  hunger,  and  thirst,  etc.,  are  said  to  be  egoistic  or  self- 
seeking — not  that  their  conscious  object  is  the  self,  but 
that  their  inevitable  effect  is  to  preserve  and  protect  the 
self.  The  fact  that  an  instinct  secures  self-preservation 
or  self -development  does  not,  however,  make  it  "egoistic"  or 
"selfish"  in  the  moral  sense;  nor  does  it  throw  any  light 
upon  the  moral  status  of  the  instinct.  Everything  de- 
pends upon  the  sort  of  self  which  is  maintained.  There  is, 
indeed,  some  presumption  (see  ante,  p.  294)  that  the  act 
sustains  a  social  self,  that  is,  a  self  whose  maintenance  is  of 
social  value.  If  the  individual  organism  did  not  struggle 
for  food;  strive  aggressively  against  obstacles  and  inter- 
ferences; evade  or  shelter  itself  against  menacing  supe- 
rior force,  what  would  become  of  children,  fathers  and 
mothers,  lawyers,  doctors  and  clergymen,  citizens  and 
patriots — in  short,  of  society.?  If  we  avoid  setting  up  a 
purely  abstract  self,  if  we  keep  in  mind  that  every  actual 
self  is  a  self  which  includes  social  relations  and  offices, 
both  actual  and  potential,  we  shall  have  no  difficulty 
in  seeing  that  self-preservative  instincts  may  be,  and  taken 
by  and  large,  must  be,  socially  conservative.  Moreover, 
while  it  is  not  true  that  if  "a  man  does  not  look  after  his 
own  interests  no  one  else  will"  (if  that  means  that  his  in- 
terests are  no  one  else's  affair  in  any  way),  it  is  true 
that  no  one  has  a  right  to  neglect  his  own  interests  in 
the  hope  that  some  one  else  will  care  for  them.  "His  own 
interests,"  properly  speaking,  are  precisely  the  ends  which 
concern  him  more  directly  than  they  concern  any  one  else. 
Each  man  is,  so  to  say,  nearer  himself  than  is  any  one 
else,  and,  therefore,  has  certain  duties  to  and  about  him- 
self which  cannot  be  performed  by  any  other  one.  Others 
may  present  food  or  the  conditions  of  education,  but  the 
individual  alone  can  digest  the  food  or  educate  himself. 
It  is  profitable  for  society,  not  merely  for  an  individual, 
that  each  of  us  should  instinctively  have  his  powers  most 
actively  and  intensely  called  out  by  the  things  that  dis- 


SELF-LOVE  AND  BENEVOLENCE  381 

tinctivelj  affect  him  and  his  own  welfare.  Any  other 
arrangement  would  mean  waste  of  social  energy,  ineffi- 
ciency in  securing  social  results. 

The  quotation  from  James  also  makes  it  clear,  however, 
that  under  certain  circumstances  the  mere  absorption  in 
a  thing,  even  without  conscious  thought  of  self,  is  morally 
offensive.  The  "pig"  in  manners  is  not  necessarily  think- 
ing of  himself;  all  that  is  required  to  make  him  a  pig 
is  that  he  should  have  too  narrow  and  exclusive  an  object 
of  regard.  The  man  sees  simply  the  seat,  not  the  seat 
and  the  lady.  The  boor  in  manners  is  unconscious  of 
many  of  the  objects  in  the  situation  which  should  operate 
as  stimuli.  One  impulse  or  habit  is  operating  at  the 
expense  of  others ;  the  self  in  play  is  too  petty  or  narrow. 
Viewed  from  the  standpoint  of  results,  the  fact  which  con- 
stitutes selfishness  in  the  moral  sense  is  not  that  certain 
impulses  and  habits  secure  the  well-being  of  the  self,  hut 
that  the  well-being  secured  is  a  narrow  and  exclusive  one. 
The  forms  of  coarse  egoism  which  offend  us  most  in  ordi- 
nary life  are  not  usually  due  to  a  deliberate  or  self-con- 
scious seeking  of  advantage  for  self,  but  to  such  preoc- 
cupation with  certain  ends  as  blinds  the  agent  to  the 
thought  of  the  interests  of  others.  Many  whose  behavior 
seems  to  others  most  selfish  would  deny  indignantly  (and, 
from  the  standpoint  of  their  definite  consciousness,  hon- 
estly )  any  self-seeking  motives :  they  would  point  to  certain 
objective  results,  which  in  the  abstract  are  desirable,  as 
the  true  ends  of  their  activities.  But  none  the  less,  they 
are  selfish,  because  the  limitations  of  their  interests  make 
them  overlook  the  consequences  which  affect  the  freedom 
and  happiness  of  others. 

3.  There  are  also  Cases  in  Which  the  Thought  of 
the  Resulting  Consequence  to  the  Self  Consciously 
Enters  in  and  Modifies  the  Motive  of  the  Act. — With 
increasing  memory  and  foresight,  one  can  no  more  ignore 
the  lesson  of  the  past  as  to  the  consequences  of  an  act 


382         PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

upon  himself  than  he  can  ignore  other  consequences.  A 
man  who  has  learned  that  a  certain  act  has  painful  con- 
sequences to  himself,  whether  to  his  body,  his  reputation, 
his  comfort,  or  his  character,  is  quite  likely  to  have  the 
thought  of  himself  present  itself  as  part  of  the  foreseen 
consequences  when  the  question  of  a  similar  act  recurs. 
In  and  of  itself,  once  more,  this  fact  throws  no  light  upon 
the  moral  status  of  the  act.  Everything  depends  upon 
what  sort  of  a  self  moves  and  how  it  moves.  A  man  who 
hesitated  to  rush  into  a  burning  building  to  rescue  a  suit 
of  clothes  because  he  thought  of  the  danger  to  him- 
self, would  be  sensible;  a  man  who  rushed  out  of  the 
building  just  because  he  thought  of  saving  himself  when 
there  were  others  he  might  have  assisted,  would  be  con- 
temptible. 

The  one  who  began  taking  exercise  because  he  thought 
of  his  own  health,  would  be  commended;  but  a  man  who 
thought  so  continually  of  his  own  health  as  to  shut  out 
other  objects,  would  become  an  object  of  ridicule  or  worse. 
There  As  a  moral  presumption  that  a  man  should  make 
consideration  of  himself  a  part  of  his  aim  and  intent.  A 
certain  care  of  health,  of  body,  of  property,  of  mental 
faculty,  because  they  are  one's  own  is  not  only  permissible, 
but  obhgatory.  This  is  what  the  older  moral  writers; 
spoke  of  as  "prudence,"  or  as  "reasonable  self-love." 

(i.)  It  is  a  stock  argument  of  the  universal  selfishness: 
theory  to  point  out  that  a  man's  acknowledgment  of  some 
public  need  or  benefit  is  quite  likely  to  coincide  with  hi& 
recognition  of  some  private  advantage.  A  statesman's 
recognition  of  some  measure  of  public  policy  happens  to 
coincide  with  perceiving  that  by  pressing  it  he  can  bring 
himself  into  prominence  or  gain  office.  A  man  is  more 
likely  to  see  the  need  of  improved  conditions  of  sanitation 
or  transportation  in  a  given  locality  if  he  has  property 
there.  A  man's  indignation  at  some  prevalent  public  ill 
may  sleep  till  he  has  had  a  private  taste  of  it.     We  may 


SELF-LOVE  AND  BENEVOLENCE  383 

admit  that  these  instances  describe  a  usual,  though  not 
universal,  state  of  affairs.  But  does  it  follow  that  such 
men  are  moved  inerely  by  the  thought  of  gain  to  them- 
selves? Possibly  this  sometimes  happens;  then  the  act  is 
selfish  in  the  obnoxious  sense.  The  man  has  isolated  his 
thought  of  himself  as  an  end  and  made  the  thought  of 
the  improvement  or  reform  merely  an  external  means. 
The  latter  is  not  truly  his  end  at  all ;  he  has  not  identified 
it  with  himself.  In  other  cases,  while  the  individual  would 
not  have  recognized  the  end  if  the  thought  of  himself  had 
not  been  implicated,  yet  after  he  has  recognized  it,  the 
two — the  thought  of  himself  and  of  the  public  advantage — 
may  blend.  His  thought  of  himself  may  lend  warmth  and 
intimacy  to  an  object  which  otherwise  would  have  been 
cold,  wliiley  at  the  same  time,  the  self  is  broadened  and 
deepened  by  taking  in  the  new  object  of  regard, 

(ii.)  Take  the  case  of  amusement  or  recreation.  To  an 
adult  usually  engaged  in  strenuous  pursuits,  the  thought 
of  a  pleasure  for  the  mere  sake  of  pleasure,  of  enjoyment, 
of  having  a  "good  time,"  may  appeal  as  an  end.  And  if 
the  pleasure  is  itself  "innocent,"  only  the  requirements  of 
a  preconceived  theory  (like  the  Kantian)  would  ques- 
tion its  legitimacy.  Even  its  moral  necessity  is  clear  when 
relaxation  is  conducive  to  cheerfulness  and  efficiency 
in  more  serious  pursuits.  But  if  a  man  discriminates 
mentally  between  himself  and  the  play  or  exercise  in 
which  he  finds  enjoyment  and  relief,  thinking  of  himself 
as  a  distinct  end  to  which  the  latter  is  merely  means, 
he  is  not  likely  to  get  the  recreation.  It  is  by  forgetting 
the  self,  that  is  by  taking  the  light  and  easy  activity  as 
the  self  of  the  situation,  that  the  benefit  comes.  To  be 
a  "lover  of  pleasure"  in  the  bad  sense  is  precisely  to 
seek  amusements  as  excitements  for  a  self  which  some- 
how remains  outside  them  as  their  fixed  and  ulterior 
end. 

(iii.)  Exactly  the  same  analysis  applies  to  the  idea  of 


S84    PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

the  moral  culture  of  the  self,  of  its  moral  perfecting, 
Every  serious-minded  person  has,  from  time  to  time,  to 
take  stock  of  his  status  and  progress  in  moral  matters — 
to  take  thought  of  the  moral  self  just  as  at  other  times 
he  takes  thought  of  the  health  of  the  bodily  self.  But 
woe  betides  that  man  who,  having  entered  upon  a  course  of 
reflection  which  leads  to  a  clearer  conception  of  his  own 
moral  capacities  and  weaknesses,  maintains  that  thought 
as  a  distinct  mental  end,  and  thereby  makes  his  subsequent 
acts  simply  means  to  improving  or  perfecting  his  moral 
nature.  Such  a  course  defeats  itself.  At  the  least,  it 
leads  to  priggishness,  and  its  tendency  is  towards  one  of 
the  worst  forms  of  selfishness :  a  habit  of  thinking  and  feel- 
ing that  persons,  that  concrete  situations  and  relations, 
exist  simply  to  render  contributions  to  one's  own  precious 
moral  character.  The  worst  of  such  selfishness  is  that 
having  protected  itself  with  the  mantle  of  interest  in  moral 
goodness,  it  is  proof  against  that  attrition  of  experience 
which  may  always  recall  a  man  to  himself  in  the  case  of 
grosser  and  more  unconscious  absorption.  A  sentimentally 
refined  egoism  is  always  more  hopeless  than  a  brutal  and 
naive  one — though  a  brutal  one  not  infrequently  protects 
itself  by  adoption  and  proclamation  of  the  language  of 
the  former. 

II.  Benevolence  or  Regard  for  Others. — Ambiguity  in 
Conception:  There  is  the  same  ambiguity  in  the  idea  of 
sympathetic  or  altruistic  springs  to  action  that  there  is 
in  that  of  egoistic  and  self -regarding.  Does  the  phrase 
refer  to  their  conscious  and  express  intent  .^^  or  to  their 
objective  results  when  put  into  operation,  irrespective 
of  explicit  desire  and  aim.^"  And,  if  the  latter,  are  we 
to  believe  contribution  to  the  welfare  of  others  to  be 
the  sole  and  exclusive  character  of  some  springs  of 
action,  or  simply  that,  under  certain  circumstances,  the 
emphasis  falls  more  upon  the  good  resulting  to  others 
than    upon    other    consequences.?      The    discussion    will 


SELF-LOVE  AND  BENEVOLENCE  385 

show  that  the  same  general  principles  hold  for  "benevo- 
lent" as  for  self-regarding  impulses:  namely  (1)  that 
there  are  none  which  from  the  start  are  consciously  such; 
(2)  that  while  reflection  may  bring  to  light  their  bearing 
upon  the  welfare  of  others  so  that  it  becomes  an  element 
in  the  conscious  desire,  this  is  a  matter  of  relative  pre- 
ponderance, not  of  absolute  nature;  and  (3)  that  just  as 
conscious  regard  for  self  is  not  necessarily  bad  or  "self- 
ish," so  conscious  regard  for  others  is  not  necessarily  good : 
the  criterion  is  the  whole  situation  in  which  the  desire 
takes  effect. 

I.  The  Existence  of  Other-Regarding  Springs  to 
Action. — Only  the  preconceptions  of  hedonistic  psychol- 
ogy would  ever  lead  one  to  deny  the  existence  of  reac- 
tions and  impulses  called  out  by  the  sight  of  others'  misery 
and  joy  and  which  tend  to  increase  the  latter  and  to  relieve 
the  former.  Recent  psychologists  (writing,  of  course, 
quite  independently  of  ethical  controversies)  off^er  lists 
of  native  instinctive  tendencies  such  as  the  following: 
Anger,  jealousy,  rivalry,  secretiveness,  acquisitiveness, 
fear,  shyness,  sympathy,  aff^ection,  pity,  sexual  love,  curi- 
osity, imitation,  play,  constructiveness/  In  this  in- 
ventory, the  first  seven  may  be  said  to  be  aroused  specially 
by  situations  having  to  do  with  the  preservation  of  the 
self;  the  next  four  are  responses  to  stimuli  proceeding 
especially  from  others  and  tending  to  consequences  favor- 
able to  them,  while  the  last  four  are  mainly  impersonal. 
But  the  division  into  self -regarding  and  other-regarding 
is  not  exclusive  and  absolute.  Anger  may  be  wholly  other- 
regarding,  as  in  the  case  of  hearty  indignation  at  wrongs 
suffered  by  others ;  rivalry  may  be  generous  emulation  or 
be  directed  toward  surpassing  one's  own  past  record. 
Love  between  the  sexes,  which  should  be  the  source  of 
steady,  far-reaching  interest  in  others,  and  which  at  times 
expresses  itself  in  supreme  abnegation  of  devotion,  easily 

^  See,  for  example,  James,  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  ch. 
xxiv. 


386         PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

becomes  the  cause  of  brutal  and  persistent  egoism.  In 
short,  the  division  into  egoistic  and  altruistic  holds  only 
"other  things  being  equal." 

Confining  ourselves  for  the  moment  to  the  native  psy- 
chological equipment,  we  may  say  that  man  is  endowed 
with  instinctive  promptings  which  naturally  (that  is,  with- 
out the  intervention  of  deliberation  or  calculation)  tend  to 
preserve  the  self  (by  aggressive  attack  as  in  anger,  or  in 
protective  retreat  as  in  fear)  ;  and  to  develop  his  powers 
(as  in  acquisitiveness,  constructiveness,  and  play)  ;  and 
which  equally,  without  consideration  of  resulting  ulte- 
rior benefit  either  to  self  or  to  others,  tend  to  bind  the 
self  closer  to  others  and  to  advance  the  interests  of  others 
— as  pity,  affection  at  eness,  or  again,  constructiveness  and 
play.  Any  given  individual  is  naturally  an  erratic  mixture 
of  fierce  insistence  upon  his  own  welfare  and  of  profound 
susceptibility  to  the  happiness  of  others — different  indi- 
viduals varying  much  in  the  respective  intensities  and  pro- 
portions of  the  two  tendencies. 

2.  The  Moral  Status  of  Altruistic  Tendencies. — We 
have  expressly  devoted  considerable  space  (ch.  xiii.)  to 
showing  that  there  are  no  motives  which  in  and  of  them- 
selves are  right;  that  any  tendency,  whether  original 
instinct  or  acquired  habit,  requires  sanction  from  the 
special  consequences  which,  in  the  special  situation,  are 
likely  to  flow  from  it.  The  mere  fact  that  pity  in  general 
tends  to  conserve  the  welfare  of  others  does  not  guaran- 
tee the  rightness  of  giving  way  to  an  impulse  of  pity, 
just  as  it  happens  to  spring  up.  This  might  mean  senti- 
mentalism  for  the  agent,  and  weakening  of  the  springs  of 
patience,  courage,  self-help,  and  self-respect  in  others. 
The  persistence  with  which  the  doctrine  of  the  evils  of 
indiscriminate  charity  has  to  be  taught  is  sufficient  evi- 
dence that  the  so-called  other-regarding  impulses  require 
the  same  control  by  reason  as  do  the  "egoistic"  ones. 
They  have  no  inherent  sacredness  which  exempts  them  from 


SELF-LOVE  AND  BENEVOLENCE  387 

the  application  of  the  standard  of  the  common  and  rea- 
sonable happiness. 

Evils  of  Unregulated  Altruism. — So  much  follows  from 
the  general  principles  already  discussed.  But  there  are 
special  dangers  and  evils  attendant  upon  an  exaggeration 
of  the  altruistic  idea,  (i.)  It  tends  to  render  others  de- 
pendent,  and  thus  contradicts  its  own  professed  aim:  the 
helping  of  others.  Almost  every  one  knows  some  child  who 
is  so  continuously  "helped"  by  others,  that  he  loses  his 
initiative  and  resourcefulness.  Many  an  invalid  is  con- 
firmed in  a  state  of  helplessness  by  the  devoted  attention 
of  others.  In  large  social  matters  there  is  always  danger 
of  the  substitution  of  an  ideal  of  conscious  "benevolence" 
for  justice:  it  is  in  aristocratic  and  feudal  periods  that 
the  idea  flourishes  that  "charity"  (conceived  as  conferring 
benefits  upon  others,  doing  things  for  them)  is  inherently 
and  absolutely  a  good.  The  idea  assumes  the  continued 
and  necessary  existence  of  a  dependent  "lower"  class  to 
be  the  recipients  of  the  kindness  of  their  superiors ;  a  class 
which  serves  as  passive  material  for  the  cultivation  in 
others  of  the  virtue  of  charity,  the  higher  class  "ac- 
quiring merit"  at  expense  of  the  lower,  while  the  lower 
has  gratitude  and  respect  for  authority  as  its  chief  virtues. 

(ii.)  The  erection  of  the  ^'benevolent*'  impulse  into  a 
virtue  in  and  of  itself  tends  to  huild  tip  egoism  in  others. 
The  child  who  finds  himself  unremittingly  the  object  of 
attention  from  others  is  likely  to  develop  an  exaggerated 
sense  of  the  relative  importance  of  his  own  ego.  The 
chronic  invalid,  conspicuously  the  recipient  of  the  conscious 
altruism  of  others,  is  happy  in  nature  who  avoids  the  slow 
growth  of  an  insidious  egoism.  Men  who  are  the  con- 
stant subjects  of  abnegation  on  the  part  of  their  wives 
and  female  relatives  rarely  fail  to  develop  a  self-absorbed 
complacency  and  unconscious  conceit. 

(iii.)  Undue  emphasis  upon  altruism  as  a  motive  is  quite 
likely  to  react  to  form  a  peculiarly  subtle  egoism  in  the 


388         PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

person  who  cultivates  it.  Others  cease  to  be  natural  objects 
of  interest  and  regard,  and  are  converted  into  excuses  for 
the  manifestation  and  nurture  of  one's  own  generous  good- 
ness. Underlying  complacency  with  respect  to  social  ills 
grows  up  because  they  afford  an  opportunity  for  develop- 
ing and  displaying  this  finest  of  virtues.  In  our  interest 
in  the  maintenance  of  our  own  benign  altruism  we  cease 
to  be  properly  disturbed  by  conditions  which  are  in- 
trinsically unjust  and  hateful.^  (iv.)  As  present  cir- 
cumstances amply  demonstrate,  there  is  the  danger  that 
the  erection  of  benevolence  into  a  conscious  principle  in 
some  things  will  serve  to  supply  rich  persons  with  a  cloak 
for  selfishness  in  other  directions.  Philanthropy  is  made 
an  offset  and  compensation  for  brutal  exploitation.  A 
man  who  pushes  to  the  breaking-point  of  legality  aggres- 
sively selfish  efforts  to  get  ahead  of  others  in  business, 
squares  it  in  his  own  self-respect  and  in  the  esteem  of 
those  classes  of  the  community  who  entertain  like  concep- 
tions, by  gifts  of  hospitals,  colleges,  missions,  and 
libraries. 

Genuine  and  False  Altruism. — These  considerations 
may  be  met  by  the  obvious  retort  that  it  is  not  true 
altruism,  genuine  benevolence,  sincere  charity,  which  we 
are  concerned  with  in  such  cases.  This  is  a  true  remark. 
We  are  not  of  course  criticizing  true  but  spurious  interest 
in  others.  But  why  is  it  counterfeit?  What  is  the  nature 
of  the  genuine  article?  The  danger  is  not  in  benevolence 
or  altruism,  but  in  that  conception  of  them  which  makes 
them  equivalent  to  regard  for  others  as  others,  irrespective 
of  a  social  situation  to  which  all  alike  belong.  There  is 
nothing  in  the  selfhood  of  others,  because  they  are  others, 
which  gives  it  any  supremacy  over  selfhood  in  oneself. 
Just  as  it  is  exclusiveness  of  objective  ends,  the  ignoring 

*  Measures  of  public  or  state  activity  in  the  extension,  for  ex- 
ample, of  education  (furnishing  free  text-books,  adequate  medical  in- 
spection, and  remedy  of  defects),  are  opposed  by  "good  people"  be- 
cause there  are  "charitable"  agencies  for  doing  these  things. 


SELF-LOVE  AND  BENEVOLENCE  389 

of  relations,  which  is  objectionable  in  selfishness,  so  it  is 
taking  the  part  for  the  whole  which  is  obnoxious  in  so- 
called  altruism.  To  include  in  our  view  of  consequences  the 
needs  and  possibilities  of  others  on  the  same  basis  as  our 
own,  is  to  take  the  only  course  which  will  give  an  adequate 
view  of  the  situation.  There  is  no  situation  into  which 
these  factors  do  not  enter.  To  have  a  generous  view  of 
others  is  to  have  a  larger  world  in  which  to  act.  To 
remember  that  they,  like  ourselves,  are  persons,  a;re  indi- 
viduals who  are  centers  of  joy  and  suffering,  of  lack  and 
of  potentiality,  is  alone  to  have  a  just  view  of  the  condi- 
tions and  issues  of  behavior.  Quickened  sympathy  means 
liberality  of  intelligence  and  enlightened  understanding. 

The  Social  Sense  versus  Altruism. — There  is  a  great 
difference  in  principle  between  modern  philanthropy  and 
the  "charity"  which  assumes  a  superior  and  an  inferior 
class.  The  latter  principle  tries  to  acquire  merit  by  employ- 
ing one's  superior  resources  to  lessen,  or  to  mitigate,  the 
misery  of  those  who  are  fixed  in  a  dependent  status.  Its 
principle,  so  far  as  others  are  concerned,  is  negative  and 
palliative  merely.  The  motive  of  what  is  vital  in  modern 
philanthropy  is  constructive  and  expansive  because  it 
looks  to  the  well-being  of  society  as  a  whole,  not  to 
soothing  or  rendering  more  tolerable  the  conditions  of  a 
class.  It  realizes  the  interdependence  of  interests:  that 
complex  and  variegated  interaction  of  conditions  which 
makes  it  impossible  for  any  one  individual  or  "class"  really 
to  secure,  to  assure,  its  own  good  as  a  separate  thing.  Its 
aim  is  general  social  advance,  constructive  social  reform, 
not  merely  doing  something  kind  for  individuals  who  are 
rendered  helpless  from  sickness  or  poverty.  Its  aim  is 
the  equity  of  justice,  not  the  inequality  of  conferring 
benefits.  That  the  sight  of  the  misery  that  comes  from 
sickness,  from  insanity,  from  defective  organic  structure 
(as  among  the  blind  and  deaf),  from  poverty  that  destroys 
hope  and  dulls  initiative,  from  bad  nutrition,  should  stim- 


390        PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

ulate  this  general  quickening  of  the  social  sense  is  natural. 
But  just  as  the  activities  of  the  parent  with  reference 
to  the  welfare  of  a  helpless  infant  are  wisely  directed  in 
the  degree  in  which  attention  is  mainly  fixed  not  upon 
weakness,  but  upon  positive  opportunities  for  growth,  so 
the  efforts  of  those  whose  activities,  by  the  nature  of  cir- 
cumstances, have  to  be  especially  remedial  and  palliative 
are  most  effective  when  centered  on  the  social  rights  and 
possibilities  of  the  unfortunate  individuals,  instead  of 
treating  them  as  separate  individuals  to  whom,  in  their 
separateness,  "good  is  to  be  done." 

The  best  kind  of  help  to  others,  whenever  possible,  is 
indirect,  and  consists  in  such  modifications  of  the  condi- 
tions of  life,  of  the  general  level  of  subsistence,  as  enables 
them  independently  to  help  themselves.^  Whenever  condi- 
tions require  purely  direct  and  personal  aid,  it  is  best 
given  when  it  proceeds  from  a  natural  social  relationship, 
and  not  from  a  motive  of  "benevolence"  as  a  separate 
force.^  The  gift  that  pauperizes  when  proceeding  from 
a  philanthropist  in  his  special  capacity,  is  a  beneficent 
acknowledgment  of  the  relationships  of  the  case  when  it 
comes  from  a  neighbor  or  from  one  who  has  other  inter- 
ests in  common  with  the  one  assisted. 

The  Private  and  the  Social  Self. — The  contrast  be- 
tween the  narrow  or  restrictive  and  the  general  or 
expansive  good  explains  why  evil  presents  itself  as  a 
selfish  end  in  contrast  with  an  authoritative,  but  faint, 
good  of  others.  This  is  not,  as  we  have  seen,  because 
regard  for  the  good  of  self  is  inherently  bad  and  regard 
for  that  of  others  intrinsically  right ;  but  because  we  are 
apt  to  identify  the  self  with  the  habitual,  with  that  to 
which  we  are  best  adjusted  and  which  represents  the  cus- 


*  Compare  Spencer's  criticisms  of  Bentham's  view  of  happiness 
as  a  social  standard  in  contrast  with  his  own  ideal  of  freedom. 
See  Ethics,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  162-168. 

'^  See  Addams,  Democracy  and  Social  Ethics,  ch.  ii. 


THE  GOOD  AS  SELF-REALIZATION       391 

tomary  occupation.  Any  moral  crisis  is  thus  fairly  pic- 
tured as  a  struggle  to  overcome  selfishness.  The  tendency 
under  such  circumstances  is  to  contract,  to  secrete,  to  hang 
on  to  what  is  already  achieved  and  possessed.  The  habit- 
ual self  needs  to  go  out  of  the  narrowness  of  its  accus- 
tomed grooves  into  the  spacious  air  of  more  generous 
behavior. 

§  4.    THE    GOOD    AS    SEIiF-BEALIZATION 

We  now  come  to  the  theory  which  attempts  to  do  justice 
to  the  one-sided  truths  we  have  been  engaged  with,  viz., 
the  idea  that  the  moral  end  is  self-realization.  Like  self- 
assertion  in  some  respects,  it  differs  in  conceiving  the  self 
to  be  realized  as  universal  and  ultimate,  involving  the  ful- 
fillment of  all  capacities  and  the  observance  of  all 
relations.  Such  a  comprehensive  self-realization  includes 
also,  it  is  urged,  the  truth  of  altruism,  since  the  "uni- 
versal self"  is  realized  only  when  the  relations  that  bind 
one  to  others  are  fulfilled.  It  avoids  also  the  inconsistencies 
and  defects  of  the  notion  of  self-sacrifice  for  its  own  sake, 
while  emphasizing  that  the  present  incomplete  self  must  be 
denied  for  the  sake  of  attainment  of  a  more  complete  and 
final  self.  A  discussion  of  this  theory  accordingly  fur- 
nishes the  means  of  gathering  together  and  summarizing 
various  points  regarding  the  role  of  the  self  in  the  moral 
life. 

Ambiguity  in  the  Conception. —  Is  self-realization  the 
end?  As  we  have  had  such  frequent  occasion  to  observe, 
"end"  means  either  the  consequences  actually  effected,  the 
closing  and  completing  phase  of  an  act,  or  the  aim  held 
deliberately  in  view.  Now  realization  of  self  is  an  end 
(though  not  the  only  end)  in  the  former  sense.  Every 
moral  act  in  its  outcome  marks  a  development  or  fulfill- 
ment of  selfhood.  But  the  very  nature  of  right  action 
forbids  that  the  self  should  be  the  end  in  the  sense  of 
being  the   conscious   aim   of  moral   activity.      For   there 


392        PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

is  no  way  of  discovering  the  nature  of  the  self  except  in 
terms  of  objective  ends  which  fulfill  its  capacities,  and 
there  is  no  way  of  realizing  the  self  except  as  it  is  for- 
gotten in  devotion  to  these  objective  ends. 

I.  Self-Realization  as  Consequence  of  Moral  Action. — 
Every  good  act  realizes  the  selfhood  of  the  agent  who  per- 
forms it ;  every  bad  act  tends  to  the  lowering  or  destruction 
of  selfhood.  This  truth  is  expressed  in  Kant's  maxim 
that  every  personality  should  be  regarded  as  always  an  end, 
never  as  a  means,  with  its  implication  that  a  wrong  intent 
always  reduces  selfhood  to  the  status  of  a  mere  tool  or 
device  for  securing  some  end  beyond  itself — the  self-indul- 
gent man  treating  his  personal  powers  as  mere  means  to 
securing  ease,  comfort,  or  pleasure.  It  is  expressed  by 
ordinary  moral  judgment  in  its  view  that  all  immoral 
action  is  a  sort  of  prostitution,  a  lowering  of  the  dignity 
of  the  self  to  base  ends.  The  destructive  tendency  of  evil 
deeds  is  witnessed  also  by  our  common  language  in  its  con- 
ception of  wrong  as  dissipation,  dissoluteness,  duplicity. 
The  bad  character  is  one  which  is  shaky,  empty, 
^'naughty,"  unstable,  gone  to  pieces,  just  as  the  good 
man  is  straight,  solid,  four-square,  sound,  substantial. 
This  conviction  that  at  bottom  and  in  the  end,  in  spite 
of  all  temporary  appearance  to  the  contrary,  the  right 
act  effects  a  realization  of  the  self,  is  also  evidenced  in 
the  common  belief  that  virtue  brings  its  own  bliss.  No 
matter  how  much  suffering  from  physical  loss  or  from 
material  and  mental  inconvenience  or  loss  of  social  repute 
virtue  may  bring  with  it,  the  quality  of  happiness  that 
accompanies  devotion  to  the  right  end  is  so  unique, 
so  invaluable,  that  pains  and  discomforts  do  not  weigh 
in  the  balance.  It  is  indeed  possible  to  state  this  truth  in 
such  an  exaggerated  perspective  that  it  becomes  false ;  but 
taken  just  for  what  it  is,  it  acknowledges  that  whatever 
harm  or  loss  a  right  act  may  bring  to  the  self  in  some  of 
its  aspects, — even  extending  to  destruction  of  the  bodily 


THE  GOOD  AS  SELF-REALIZATION       393 

self, — the  inmost  moral  self  finds  fulfillment  and  conse- 
quent happiness  in  the  good. 

2.   Self-Realization   as   Aim   of   Moral  Action This 

realization  of  selfhood  in  the  right  course  of  action  is, 
however,  not  the  end  of  a  moral  act — that  is,  it  is  not 
the  only  end.  The  moral  act  is  one  which  sustains  a  whole 
complex  system  of  social  values ;  one  which  keeps  vital 
and  progressive  the  industrial  order,  science,  art,  and  the 
State.  The  patriot  who  dies  for  his  country  may  find 
in  that  devotion  his  own  supreme  realization,  but  none  the 
less  the  aim  of  his  act  is  precisely  that  for  which  he  per- 
forms it:  the  conservation  of  his  nation.  He  dies  for  his 
country,  not  for  himself.  He  is  what  he  would  be  in  dying 
for  his  country,  not  in  dying  for  himself.  To  say  that 
his  conscious  aim  is  self-realization  is  to  put  the  cart 
before  the  horse.  That  his  willingness  to  die  for  his  coun- 
try proves  that  his  country's  good  is  taken  by  him  to 
constitute  himself  and  his  own  good  is  true;  but  his  aim 
is  his  country's  good  as  constituting  his  self-realization, 
not  the  self-realization.  It  is  impossible  that  genuine 
artistic  creation  or  execution  should  not  be  accompanied 
with  the  joy  of  an  expanding  selfhood,  but  the  artist 
who  thinks  of  himself  and  allows  a  view  of  himself  to  in- 
tervene between  his  performance  and  its  result,  has  the 
embarrassment  and  awkwardness  of  "self-consciousness," 
which  affects  for  the  worse  his  artistic  product.  And  it 
makes  little  difference  whether  it  is  the  thought  of  himself 
as  materially  profiting,  or  as  famous,  or  as  technical 
performer,  or  as  benefiting  the  public,  or  as  securing 
his  own  complete  artistic  culture,  that  comes  in  between. 
In  any  case,  there  is  loss  to  the  work,  and  loss  in  the 
very  thing  taken  as  end,  namely,  development  of  his 
own  powers.  The  problem  of  morality,  upon  the  intel- 
lectual side,  is  the  discovery  of,  the  finding  of,  the  self,  in 
the  objective  end  to  be  striven  for;  and  then  upon  the 
overt  practical  side,  it  is  the  losing  of  the   self  in  th^ 


394         PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

endeavor  for  the  objective  realization.  This  is  the  lasting 
truth  in  the  conception  of  self-abnegation,  self-forget- 
fulness,  disinterested  interest. 

The  Thought  of  Self-Realization. — Since,  however,  the 
realization  of  selfhood,  the  strengthening  and  perfecting 
of  capacity,  is  as  matter  of  fact  one  phase  of  the  ob- 
jective end,  it  may,  at  times,  be  definitely  present  in 
thought  as  part  of  the  foreseen  consequences ;  and  even,, 
at  times,  may  be  the  most  prominent  feature  of  the  con- 
ceived results.  The  artist,  for  example  a  musician  or 
painter,  may  practice  for  the  sake  of  acquiring  skill,  that 
is,  of  developing  capacity.  In  this  case,  the  usual  rela- 
tionship of  objective  work  and  personal  power  is  reversed; 
the  product  or  performance  being  subordinated  to  the 
perfecting  of  power,  instead  of  power  being  realized  in 
the  use  it  is  put  to.  But  the  development  of  power  is 
not  conceived  as  a  final  end,  but  as  desirable  because  of  an 
eventual  more  liberal  and  effective  use.  It  is  matter  of 
temporary  emphasis.  Something  of  like  nature  occurs  in 
the  moral  life — not  that  one  definitely  rehearses  or  prac- 
tices moral  deeds  for  the  sake  of  acquiring  more  skill 
and  power.  At  times  the  effect  upon  the  self  of  a  deed 
becomes  the  conspicuously  controlling  element  in  the  fore- 
cast of  consequences.  (See  p.  382.)  For  example,  a  per- 
son may  realize  that  a  certain  act  is  trivial  in  its  effects 
upon  others  and  in  the  changes  it  impresses  upon  the 
world;  and  yet  he  may  hesitate  to  perform  it  because  he 
realizes  it  would  intensify  some  tendency  of  his  own  in 
such  a  way  as,  in  the  delicate  economy  of  character,  to  dis- 
turb the  proper  balance  of  the  springs  to  action.  Or,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  agent  may  apprehend  that  some  con- 
sequences that  are  legitimate  and  important  in  themselves 
involve,  in  their  attainment,  an  improper  sacrifice  of  per- 
sonal capacity.  In  such  cases,  the  consideration  of  the 
effect  upon  self-realization  is  not  only  permissible,  but 
imperative  as  a  'part  or  phase  of  the  total  end. 


THE  GOOD  AS  SELF-REALIZATION       395 

The  Problem  of  Equating  Personal  and  General  Hap- 
piness.— Much  moral  speculation  has  been  devoted  to 
the  problem  of  equating  personal  happiness  and  regard  for 
the  general  good.  Right  moral  action,  it  is  assumed, 
consists  especially  of  justice  and  benevolence, — attitudes 
which  aim  at  the  good  of  others.  But,  it  is  also  assumed, 
a  just  and  righteous  order  of  the  universe  requires 
that  the  man  who  seeks  the  happiness  of  others  should 
also  himself  be  a  happy  man.  Much  ingenuity  has  been 
directed  to  explaining  away  and  accounting  for  the  seem- 
ing discrepancies :  the  cases  where  men  not  conspicuous  for 
regard  for  others  or  for  maintaining  a  serious  and  noble 
view  of  life  seem  to  maintain  a  banking-credit  on  the  side 
of  happiness;  while  men  devoted  to  others,  men  conspicu- 
ous for  range  of  sympathetic  affections,  seem  to  have  a 
debit  balance.  The  problem  is  the  more  serious  because 
the  respective  good  and  ill  fortunes  do  not  seem  to  be 
entirely  accidental  and  external,  but  to  come  as  results 
from  the  moral  factors  in  behavior.  It  would  not  be 
difficult  to  build  up  an  argument  to  show  that  while  ex- 
treme viciousness  or  isolated  egoism  is  unfavorable  to 
happiness,  so  also  are  keenness  and  breadth  of  affections. 
The  argument  would  claim  that  the  most  comfortable 
course  of  life  is  one  in  which  the  man  cultivates  enough 
intimacies  with  enough  persons  to  secure  for  himself  their 
support  and  aid,  but  avoids  engaging  his  sympathies  too 
closely  in  their  affairs  and  entangling  himself  in  any  asso- 
ciations which  would  require  self-sacrifice  or  exposure  to 
the  sufferings  of  others:  a  course  of  life  in  which  the 
individual  shuns  those  excesses  of  vice  which  injure  health, 
wealth,  and  lessen  the  decent  esteem  of  others,  but  also 
shuns  enterprises  of  precarious  virtue  and  devotion  to 
high  and  difficult  ends. 

Real  and  Artificial  Aspects  of  the  Problem. — The 
problem  thus  put  seems  insoluble,  or  soluble  only  upon 
the  supposition  of  some  prolongation  of  life  under  condi- 


396        PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

tions  very  different  from  those  of  the  present,  in  which  the 
present  lack  of  balance  between  happiness  and  goodness 
will  be  redressed.  But  the  problem  is  insoluble  because  it 
is  artificial.^  It  assumes  a  ready-made  self  and  hence  a 
ready-made  type  of  satisfaction  of  happiness.  It  is  not 
the  business  of  moral  theory  to  demonstrate  the  existence 
of  mathematical  equations,  in  this  life  or  another  one,  be- 
tween goodness  and  virtue.  It  is  the  business  of  men 
to  develop  such  capacities  and  desires,  such  selves  as 
render  them  capable  of  finding  their  own  satisfaction, 
their  invaluable  value,  in  fulfilling  the  demands  which 
grow  out  of  their  associated  life.  Such  happiness  may 
be  short  in  duration  and  slight  in  bulk:  but  that  it  out- 
weighs in  quality  all  accompanying  discomforts  as  well  as 
all  enjoyments  which  might  have  been  missed  by  not  doing 
something  else,  is  attested  by  the  simple  fact  that  men  do 
consciously  choose  it.  Such  a  person  has  found  himself, 
and  has  solved  the  problem  in  the  only  place  and  in  the 
only  way  in  which  it  can  be  solved:  in  action.  To  demand 
in  advance  of  voluntary  desire  and  deliberate  choice  that 
it  be  demonstrated  that  an  individual  shall  get  happi- 
ness in  the  measure  of  the  rightness  of  his  act,  is  to  de- 
mand the  obliteration  of  the  essential  factor  in  morality: 
the  constant  discovery,  formation,  and  reformation  of  the 
self  in  the  ends  which  an  individual  is  called  upon  to 
sustain   and   develop   in   virtue   of   his   membership   in   a 

*  Compare  the  following  extreme  words  of  Sumner  (Folkways, 
p.  9)  :  "The  great  question  of  world  philosophy  always  has  been, 
what  is  the  real  relation  between  happiness  and  goodness?  It  is 
only  within  a  few  generations  that  men  have  found  courage  to  say 
there  is  none."  But  when  Sumner,  in  the  next  sentence,  says,  "The 
whole  strength  of  the  notion  that  they  are  correlated  is  in  the 
opposite  experience  which  proves  that  no  evil  thing  brings  happi- 
ness," one  may  well  ask  what  more  relation  any  reasonable  man 
would  want.  For  it  indicates  that  "goodness"  consists  in  active 
interest  in  those  things  which  really  bring  happiness;  and  while 
it  by  no  means  follows  that  this  interest  will  bring  even  a  prepon- 
derance of  pleasure  over  pain  to  the  person,  it  is  always  open  to  him 
to  find  and  take  his  dominant  happiness  in  making  this  interest 
dominant  in  his  life. 


THE  GOOD  AS  SELF-REALIZATION       397 

social  whole.  The  solution  of  the  problem  through  the 
individual's  voluntary  identification  of  himself  with  social 
relations  and  aims  is  neither  rare  nor  utopian.  It  is 
achieved  not  only  by  conspicuous  social  figures,  but  by 
multitudes  of  "obscure"  figures  who  are  faithful  to  the 
callings  of  their  social  relationships  and  offices.  That  the 
conditions  of  life  for  all  should  be  enlarged,  that  wider 
opportunities  and  richer  fields  of  activity  should  be  opened, 
in  order  that  happiness  may  be  of  a  more  noble  and  varie- 
gated sort,  that  those  inequalities  of  status  which  lead  men 
to  find  their  advantage  in  disregard  of  others  should  be 
destroyed — these  things  are  indeed  necessary.  But  under 
the  most  ideal  conditions  which  can  be  imagined,  if  there 
remain  any  moral  element  whatsoever,  it  will  be  only 
through  personal  deliberation  and  personal  preference  as 
to  objective  and  social  ends  that  the  individual  will  dis- 
cover and  constitute  himself,  and  hence  discover  the  sort 
of  happiness  required  as  his  good. 

Our  final  word  about  the  place  of  the  self  in  the  mora] 
life  is,  then,  that  the  problem  of  morality  is  the  formation, 
out  of  the  body  of  original  instinctive  impulses  which  com- 
pose the  natural  self,  of  a  voluntary  self  in  which  socialized 
desires  and  affections  are  dominant,  and  in  which  the  last 
and  controlling  principle  of  deliberation  is  the  love  of  the 
objects  which  will  make  this  transformation  possible.  If 
we  identify,  as  we  must  do,  the  interests  of  such  a  charac- 
ter with  the  virtues,  we  may  say  with  Spinoza  that  happi- 
ness is  not  the  reward  of  virtue,  but  is  virtue  itself.  What, 
then,  are  the  virtues.? 

LITERATURE 

For  asceticism,  see  Lecky,  History  of  European  Morals. 

For  self-denial,  Mackenzie,  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  V., 
pp.  273-295. 

For  egoism  and  altruism:  Comte,  System  of  Positive  Politics,  Intro- 
duction, ch.  iii.,  and  Part  II.,  ch.  ii.;  Spencer,  Principles  of  Ethics, 
Vol.  I.,  Part  I.,  chs.  xi.-xiv.;  Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  ch.  vi; 


398         PLACE  OF  SELF  IN  MORAL  LIFE 

Paulsen,  System  of  Ethics,  pp.  379-399;  Sorley,  Recent  Tendencies 
in  Ethics;  Sidgwick,  Methods  of  Ethics,  pp.  494-507. 

For  the  doctrine  of  self-interest,  see  Mandeville,  Fable  of  Bees; 
Sidgwick,  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  I.,  ch.  vii.,  and  Book  II.,  ch.  v.; 
Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  ch.  x.;  Martineau,  Types  of  Ethical 
Theory,  Part  II.,  Book  II.,  Branch  I.,  ch.  i.;  Fite,  Introdtictory  Study, 
ch.  ii. 

For  historic  development  of  sympathy,  see  Sutherland,  Origin  and 
Growth  of  the  Moral  Instinct. 

For  the  doctrine  of  self-realization,  see  Aristotle,  Ethics;  Green, 
Prolegomena  to  Ethics;  Seth,  Principles  of  Ethics,  Part  I.,  ch.  iii.; 
Bradley,  Ethical  Studies,  Essay  II.;  Fite,  Introductory  Study,  ch. 
xL;  Paulsen,  System  of  Ethics,  Book  II.,  ch.  i.;  Taylor,  Interna- 
tional Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  VI.,  pp.  356-371 ;  Palmer,  The  Heart  of 
Ethics,  and  The  Nature  of  Goodness;  Calderwood,  Philosophical 
Review,  Vol.  V.,  pp.  337-351;  Dewey,  Philosophical  Review,  Vol.  II., 
pp.  652-664;  Bryant,  Studies  in  Character,  pp.  97-117. 

For  the  ethics  of  success,  besides  the  writings  of  Nietzsche,  see 
Plato,  Gorgias  and  Republic,  Book  I.,  and  Sumner,  Folkways, 
ch.  XX. 

For  the  social  self:  Cooley,  Human  Nature  and  the  Social  Order, 
chs.  V.  and  vi. ;  for  the  antagonistic  self,  chs.  vii.-ix. 

For  a  general  discussion  of  the  Moral  Self,  see  Bosanquet,  Psy- 
chology of  the  Moral  Self;  Ladd,  Philosophy  of  Conduct,  ch.  ix. 
(see  also  ch.  xviii.  on  the  Good  Man). 


CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  VIRTUES 

INTRODUCTORY 

Definition  of  Virtue. — It  is  upon  the  self,  upon  the 
agent,  that  ultimately  falls  the  burden  of  maintaining  and 
of  extending  the  values  which  make  life  reasonable  and 
good.  The  worth  of  science,  of  art,  of  industry,  of  rela- 
tionship of  man  and  wife,  parent  and  child,  teacher  and 
pupil,  friend  and  friend,  citizen  and  State,  exists  only  as 
there  are  characters  consistently  interested  in  such  goods. 
Hence  any  trait  of  character  which  makes  for  these 
goods  is  esteemed;  it  is  given  positive  value;  while  any 
disposition  of  selfhood  found  to  have  a  contrary  tendency 
is  condemned — has  negative  value.  The  habits  of  char- 
acter whose  effect  is  to  sustain  and  spread  the  rational 
or  common  good  are  virtues ;  the  traits  of  character  which 
have  the  opposite  effect  are  vices. 

Virtue  and  Approbation;  Vice  and  Condemnation. — 
The  approbation  and  disapprobation  visited  upon  conduct 
are  never  purely  intellectual.  They  are  also  emotional  and 
practical.  We  are  stirred  to  hostility  at  whatever  disturbs 
the  order  of  society ;  we  are  moved  to  admiring  sympathy 
of  whatever  makes  for  its  welfare.  And  these  emotions 
express  themselves  in  appropriate  conduct.  To  disapprove 
and  dislike  is  to  reprove,  blame,  and  punish.  To  approve 
is  to  encourage,  to  aid,  and  support.  Hence  the  judg- 
ments express  the  character  of  the  one  who  utters  them — 
they  are  traits  of  his  conduct  and  character;  and  they 
react  into  the  character  of  the  agent  upon  whom  they  are 

399 


400  THE  VIRTUES 

directed.  They  are  part  of  the  process  of  forming  char- 
acter. The  commendation  is  of  the  nature  of  a  reward 
calculated  to  confirm  the  person  in  the  right  course  of 
action.  The  reprobation  is  of  the  nature  of  punishment, 
fitted  to  dissuade  the  agent  from  the  wrong  course.  This 
encouragement  and  blame  are  not  necessarily  of  an  ex- 
ternal sort;  the  reward  and  the  punishment  may  not  be 
in  material  things.  It  is  not  from  ulterior  design  that 
society  esteems  and  respects  those  attributes  of  an  agent 
which  tend  to  its  own  peace  and  welfare ;  it  is  from  natural, 
instinctive  response  to  acknowledge  whatever  makes  for  its 
good.  None  the  less,  the  social  esteem,  the  honor  which 
attend  certain  acts  inevitably  educate  the  individual 
who  performs  these  acts,  and  they  strengthen,  emotionally 
and  practically,  his  interest  in  the  right.  Similarly, 
there  is  an  instinctive  reaction  of  society  against  an 
infringement  of  its  customs  and  ideals;  it  naturally 
"makes  it  hot"  for  any  one  who  disturbs  its  values.  And 
this  disagreeable  attention  instructs  the  individual  as  to 
the  consequences  of  his  act,  and  works  to  hinder  the  forma- 
tion of  dispositions  of  the  socially  disliked  kind. 

Natural  Ability  and  Virtue. — There  is  a  tendency  to 
use  the  term  virtue  in  an  abstract  "moralistic"  sense — a 
way  which  makes  it  almost  Pharisaic  in  character.  Hard 
and  fast  lines  are  drawn  between  certain  traits  of  char- 
acter labeled  "virtues"  and  others  called  talents,  natural 
abilities,  or  gifts  of  nature.  Apart  from  deliberate  or 
reflective  nurture,  modesty  or  generosity  is  no  less  and  no 
more  a  purely  natural  ability  than  is  good-humor,  a  turn 
for  mechanics,  or  presence  of  mind.  Every  natural  ca- 
pacity, every  talent  or  ability,  whether  of  inquiring  mind, 
of  gentle  affection  or  of  executive  skill,  becomes  a  virtue 
when  it  is  turned  to  account  in  supporting  or  extending 
the  fabric  of  social  values;  and  it  turns,  if  not  to  vice 
at  least  to  delinquency,  when  not  thus  utilized.  The  im- 
portant habits  conventionally  reckoned  virtues  are  barren 


INTRODUCTORY  401 

unless  they  are  the  cumulative  assemblage  of  a  multitude 
of  anonymous  interests  and  capacities.  Such  natural  apti- 
tudes vary  widely  in  different  individuals.  Their  endow- 
ments and  circumstances  occasion  and  exact  different 
virtues,  and  yet  one  person  is  not  more  or  less  virtuous 
than  another  because  his  virtues  take  a  different  form. 

Changes  in  Virtues.— It  follows  also  that  the  meaning, 
or  content,  of  virtues  changes  from  time  to  time.  Their 
abstract  form,  the  man's  attitude  towards  the  good,  re- 
mains the  same.  But  when  institutions  and  customs 
change  and  natural  abilities  are  differently  stimulated  and 
evoked,  ends  vary,  and  habits  of  character  are  differently 
esteemed  both  by  the  individual  agent  and  by  others  who 
judge.  No  social  group  could  be  maintained  without 
patriotism  and  chastity,  but  the  actual  meaning  of  chas- 
tity and  patriotism  is  widely  different  in  contemporary 
society  from  what  it  was  in  savage  tribes  or  from  what 
we  may  expect  it  to  be  five  hundred  years  from  now.  Cour- 
age in  one  society  may  consist  almost  wholly  in  willingness 
to  face  physical  danger  and  death  in  voluntary  devotion  to 
one's  community;  in  another,  it  may  be  willingness  to 
support  an  unpopular  cause  in  the  face  of  ridicule. 

Conventional  and  Genuine  Virtue. — ^When  we  take 
these  social  changes  on  a  broad  scale,  in  the  gross,  the  point 
just  made  is  probably  clear  without  emphasis.  But  we  are 
apt  to  forget  that  minor  changes  are  going  on  all  the 
while.  The  community's  formulated  code  of  esteem  and 
regard  and  praise  at  any  given  time  is  likely  to  lag  some- 
what behind  its  practical  level  of  achievement  and  possi- 
bility. It  is  more  or  less  traditional,  describing  what  used 
to  be,  rather  than  what  are,  virtues.  The  "respectable" 
comes  to  mean  tolerable,  passable,  conventional.  Accord- 
ingly the  prevailing  scheme  of  assigning  merit  and  blame, 
while  on  the  whole  a  mainstay  of  moral  guidance  and  in- 
struction, is  also  a  menace  to  moral  growth.  Hence  men 
must  look  behind  the  current  valuation  to  the  real  value. 


402  THE  VIRTUES 

Otherwise,  mere  conformity  to  custom  is  conceived  to  be 
virtue;^  and  the  individual  who  deviates  from  custom  in 
the  interest  of  wider  and  deeper  good  is  censured. 

Moral  Responsibility  for  Praise  and  Blame —The  prac- 
tical assigning  of  value,  of  blame  and  praise,  is  a  measure 
and  exponent  of  the  character  of  the  one  from  whom  it 
issues.  In  judging  others,  in  commending  and  condemn- 
ing, we  judge  ourselves.  What  we  find  to  be  praiseworthy 
and  blameworthy  is  a  revelation  of  our  own  affections. 
Very  literally  the  measure  we  mete  to  others  is  meted  to 
us.  To  be  free  in  our  attributions  of  blame  is  to  be 
censorious  and  uncharitable ;  to  be  unresentf ul  to  evil  is  to 
be  indifferent,  or  interested  perhaps  chiefly  in  one's  own 
popularity,  so  that  one  avoids  giving  offense  to  others. 
To  engage  profusely  in  blame  and  approbation  in  speech 
without  acts  which  back  up  or  attack  the  ends  verbally 
honored  or  condemned,  is  to  have  a  perfunctory  morality. 
To  cultivate  complacency  and  remorse  apart  from  effort 
to  improve  is  to  indulge  in  sentimentality.  In  short,  to 
approve  or  to  condemn  is  itself  a  moral  act  for  which  we 
are  as  much  responsible  as  we  are  for  any  other  deed. 

Impossibility  of  Cataloguing  Virtues. — These  last  three 
considerations :  ( 1 )  the  intimate  connection  of  virtues  with 
all  sorts  of  individual  capacities  and  endowments,  (2)  the 
change  in  types  of  habit  required  with  change  of  social 
customs  and  institutions,  (3)  the  dependence  of  judgment 
of  vice  and  virtue  upon  the  character  of  the  one  judging,^ 
make  undesirable  and  impossible  a  catalogued  list  of  vir- 

^  This  is,  of  course,  the  point  made  in  ch.  iv.  on  ^^Customs  or 
Mores,"  save  that  there  the  emphasis  was  upon  the  epoch  of  cus- 
tomary as  distinct  from  the  reflective  morals,  while  here  it  is  upon 
the  customary   factor  in   the  present. 

*  This  fact  might  be  employed  to  reen  force  our  prior  conclusion 
that  moral  rules,  classifications,  etc.,  are  not  of  final  importance  but 
are  of  value  in  clarifying  and  judging  individual  acts  and  situations. 
Not  the  rule,  but  the  use  which  the  person  makes  of  the  rule 
in  approving  and  disapproving  himself  and  others,  is  the  significant 
thing. 


INTRODUCTORY  403 

tues  with  an  exact  definition  of  each.  Virtues  are  num- 
berless. Every  situation,  not  of  a  routine  order, 
brings  in  some  special  shading,  some  unique  adaptation, 
of  disposition. 

Twofold  Classification. — We  may,  however,  classify 
the  chief  institutions  of  social  life — language,  scientific  in- 
vestigation, artistic  production,  industrial  efficiency,  fam- 
ily, local  community,  nation,  humanity — and  specify  the 
types  of  mental  disposition  and  interest  which  are  fitted  to 
maintain  them  flourishingly ;  or,  starting  from  typical  im- 
pulsive and  instinctive  tendencies,  we  may  consider  the 
form  they  assume  when  they  become  intelligently  exercised 
habits.  A  virtue  may  be  defined,  accordingly,  either  as 
the  settled  intelligent  identification  of  an  agenfs  capacity 
with  some  aspect  of  the  reasonable  or  common  happiness; 
or,  as  a  social  custom  or  tendency  organized  into  a  per- 
sonal habit  of  valuation.  From  the  latter  standpoint, 
truthfulness  is  the  social  institution  of  language  main- 
tained at  its  best  pitch  of  efficiency  through  the  habitual 
purposes  of  individuals;  from  the  former,  it  is  an  in- 
stinctive capacity  and  tendency  to  communicate  emotions 
and  ideas  directed  so  as  to  maintain  social  peace  and 
prosperity.  In  like  fashion,  one  might  catalogue  all  forms 
of  social  custom  and  institution  on  one  hand;  and  all  the 
species  and  varieties  of  individual  equipment  on  the  other, 
and  enumerate  a  virtue  for  each.  But  the  performance  is 
so  formal  as  not  to  amount  to  much. 

Aspects  of  Virtue. — Any  virtuous  disposition  of  char- 
acter exhibits,  however,  certain  main  traits,  a  consider- 
ation of  which  will  serve  to  review  and  summarize  our  an- 
alysis of  the  moral  life. 

I.  The  Interest  Must  be  Entire  or  Whole-hearted. — 
The  whole  self,  without  division  or  reservation,  must  go 
out  into  the  proposed  object  and  find  therein  its  own  satis- 
faction. Virtue  is  integrity;  vice  duplicity.  Goodness  is 
straight,  right ;  badness  is  crooked,  indirect.    Interest  that 


404  THE  VIRTUES 

is  incomplete  is  not  interest,  but  (so  far  as  incomplete)  in- 
difference and  disregard.  This  totality  of  interest  we  call 
affection,  love;  and  love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law.  A 
grudging  virtue  is  next  to  no  virtue  at  all ;  thorough  heart- 
iness in  even  a  bad  cause  stirs  admiration,  and  lukewarm- 
ness  in  every  direction  is  always  despised  as  meaning  lack 
of  character.  Surrender,  abandonment,  is  of  the  essence 
of  identification  of  self  with  an  object. 

II.  The  Interest  Must  be  Energetic  and  Hence  Per- 
sistent.— One  swallow  does  not  make  a  summer  nor  a  spo- 
radic right  act  a  virtuous  habit.  Fair-weather  character 
has  a  proverbially  bad  name.  Endurance  through  discour- 
agement, through  good  repute  and  ill,  weal  and  woe,  tests 
the  vigor  of  interest  in  the  good,  and  both  builds  up  and 
expresses  a  formed  character. 

III.  The  Interest  Must  be  Pure  or  Sincere. — Honesty 
is,  doubtless,  the  best  policy,  and  it  is  better  a  man  should 
be  honest  from  policy  than  not  honest  at  all.  If  genuinely 
honest  from  considerations  of  prudence,  he  is  on  the  road 
to  learn  better  reasons  for  honesty.  None  the  less,  we  are 
suspicious  of  a  man  if  we  believe  that  motives  of  personal 
profit  are  the  only  stay  of  his  honesty.  For  circumstances 
might  arise  in  which,  in  the  exceptional  case,  it  would  be 
clear  that  personal  advantage  lay  in  dishonesty.  The  mo- 
tive for  honesty  would  hold  in  most  cases,  in  ordinary  and 
routine  circumstances  and  in  the  glare  of  publicity,  but 
not  in  the  dark  of  secrecy,  or  in  the  turmoil  of  disturbed 
circumstance.  The  eye  single  to  the  good,  the  "disin- 
terested interest"  of  moralists,  is  required.  The  motive 
that  has  to  be  coaxed  or  coerced  to  its  work  by  some 
promise  or  threat  is  imperfect. 

Cardinal  or  Indispensable  Aspects  of  Virtue. — Bear- 
ing in  mind  that  we  are  not  attempting  to  classify  various 
acts  or  habits,  but  only  to  state  traits  essential  to  all  mo- 
rality, we  have  the  "cardinal  virtues"  of  moral  theory. 
As    whole-hearted,    as    complete    interest,    any    habit    or 


INTRODUCTORY  405 

attitude  of  character  involves  justice  and  love;  as  per- 
sistently active,  it  is  courage,  fortitude,  or  vigor;  as  un- 
mixed and  single,  it  is  temperance — in  its  classic  sense. 
And  since  no  habitual  interest  can  be  integral,  enduring, 
or  sincere,  save  as  it  is  reasonable,  save,  that  is,  as  it  is 
rooted  in  the  deliberate  habit  of  viewing  the  part  in  the 
light  of  the  whole,  the  present  in  the  light  of  the  past  and 
future,  interest  in  the  good  is  also  wisdom  or  conscien- 
tiousness:— interest  in  the  discovery  of  the  true  good  of 
the  situation.  Without  this  interest,  all  our  interest  is 
likely  to  be  perverted  and  misleading — requiring  to  be 
repented  of. 

Wisdom,  or  (in  modern  phrase)  conscientiousness,  is  the 
nurse  of  all  the  virtues.  Our  most  devoted  courage  is  in 
the  will  to  know  the  good  and  the  fair  by  unflinching  at- 
tention to  the  painful  and  disagreeable.  Our  severest  dis- 
cipline in  self-control  is  that  which  checks  the  exorbitant 
pretensions  of  an  appetite  by  insisting  upon  knowing  it  in 
its  true  proportions.  The  most  exacting  justice  is  that  of 
an  intelligence  which  gives  due  weight  to  each  desire  and 
demand  in  deliberation  before  it  is  allowed  to  pass  into 
overt  action.  That  affection  and  wisdom  lie  close  to  each 
other  is  evidenced  by  our  language;  thoughtfulness,  re- 
gard, consideration  for  others,  recognition  of  others, 
attention  to  others. 


§  1.    TEMPERANCE 

The  English  word  "temperance"  (particularly  in  its 
local  association  with  agitation  regarding  use  of  intoxi- 
cating liquors)  is  a  poor  substitute  for  the  Greek  sophros- 
yne  which,  through  the  Latin  temperantia,  it  represents. 
The  Athenian  Greek  was  impressed  with  the  fact  that  just 
as  there  are  lawless,  despotically  ruled,  and  self-governed 
communities,  so  there  are  lawless,  and  servile,  and  self- 
ruled  individuals.    Whenever  there  is  a  self -governed  soul, 


406  THE  VIRTUES 

there  is  a  happy  blending  of  the  authority  of  reason  with 
the  force  of  appetite.  The  individual's  diverse  nature  is 
tempered  into  a  living  harmony  of  desire  and  intelligence. 
Reason  governs  not  as  a  tyrant  from  without,  but  as  a 
guide  to  which  the  impulses  and  emotions  are  gladly  re- 
sponsive. Such  a  well-attuned  nature*,  as  far  from  asceti- 
cism on  one  side  as  from  random  indulgence  on  the  other, 
represented  the  ideal  of  what  was  fair  and  graceful  in 
character,  and  was  embodied  in  the  notion  of  sophrosyne. 
This  was  a  wJiole-mindedness  which  resulted  from  the 
happy  furtherance  of  all  the  elements  of  human  nature 
under  the  self-accepted  direction  of  intelligence.  It  im- 
plied an  (Esthetic  view  of  character;  of  harmony  in 
structure  and  rhythm  in  action.  It  was  the  virtue  of 
judgment  exercised  in  the  estimate  of  pleasures: — since 
it  is  the  agreeable,  the  pleasant,  which  gives  an  end 
excessive  hold  upon  us. 

Roman  Temperantia. — The  Roman  conceived  this  vir- 
tue under  the  term  temperantia,  which  conveys  the  same 
idea,  but  accommodated  to  the  Roman  genius.  It  is  con- 
nected with  the  word  tempus,  time,  which  is  connected  also 
with  a  root  meaning  divide,  distribute ;  it  suggests  a  con- 
secutive orderliness  of  behavior,  a  freedom  from  excessive 
and  reckless  action,  first  this  way,  and  then  that.  It  means 
seemliness,  decorum,  decency.  It  was  "moderation,"  not 
as  quantity  of  indulgence,  but  as  a  moderating  of  each  act 
in  a  series  by  the  thought  of  other  and  succeeding  acts — 
keeping  each  in  sequence  with  others  in  a  whole.  The  idea 
of  time  involves  time  to  think ;  the  sobering  second  thought 
expressed  in  seriousness  and  gravity.  The  negative  side, 
the  side  of  restraint,  of  inhibition,  is  strong,  and  functions 
for  the  consistent  calm  and  gravity  of  life. 

Christian  Purity. — Through  the  Christian  influence,  the 
connotation  which  is  marked  in  the  notion  of  control  of 
sexual  appetite,  became  most  obvious — purity.  Passion  is 
not  so  much  something  which  disturbs  the  harmony  of 


TEMPERANCE  407 

man's  nature,  or  which  interrupts  its  orderliness,  as  it  is 
something  which  defiles  the  purity  of  spiritual  nature.  It 
is  the  grossness,  the  contamination  of  appetite  which  is 
insisted  upon,  and  temperance  is  the  maintenance  of  the 
soul  spotless  and  unsullied. 

Negative  Phase: — Self-control.  A  negative  aspect  of 
self-control,  restraint,  inhibition  is  everywhere  involved.^ 
It  is  not,  however,  desire,  or  appetite,  or  passion,  or  im- 
pulse, which  has  to  be  checked  (much  less  eliminated)  ;  it 
is  rather  that  tendency  of  desire  and  passion  so  to  engross 
attention  as  to  destroy  our  sense  of  the  other  ends  which 
have  a  claim  upon  us.  This  moderation  of  pretension  is 
indispensable  for  every  desire.  In  one  direction,  it  is  mod- 
esty, humility ;  the  restraint  of  the  tendency  of  self-conceit 
to  distort  the  relative  importance  of  the  agent's  and  others' 
concerns;  in  another  direction,  it  is  chastity;  in  another, 
"temperance"  in  the  narrower  sense  of  that  word — ^keeping 
the  indulgence  of  hunger  and  thirst  from  passing  reason- 
able bounds;  in  another,  it  is  calmness,  self-possession — 
moderation  of  the  transporting  power  of  excitement;  in 
yet  another,  it  is  discretion,  imposing  limits  upon  the  use 
of  the  hand,  eye,  or  tongue.  In  matters  of  wealth,  it  is 
decent  regulation  of  display  and  ostentation.  In  another, 
it  is  prudence,  control  of  the  present  impulse  and  de- 
sire by  a  view  of  the  "long  run,"  of  proximate  by  remote 
consequences.^ 

Positive  Phase:  Reverence. — The  tendency  of  domi- 
nant passion  is  to  rush  us  along,  to  prevent  our  thinking. 
The  one  thing  that  desire  emphasizes  is,  for  the  time  being, 
the  most  important  thing  in  the  universe.  This  is  neces- 
sary to  heartiness  and  effectiveness  of  interest  and  be- 

*  Less  is  said  on  this  point  because  this  phase  of  the  matter  has 
been  covered  in  the  discussion  of  self-denial  in  the  previous  chapter. 
See  pp.  364-68. 

*  Strict  hedonism  would  tend  to  reduce  all  virtue  to  prudence — the 
calculation  of  subtler  and  remoter  consequences  and  the  control  of 
present  behavior  by  its  outcome. 


408  THE  VIRTUES 

havior.  But  it  is  important  that  the  thing  which  thus  ab- 
sorbs desire  should  be  an  end  capable  of  justifying  its 
power  to  absorb.  This  is  possible  only  if  it  expresses  the 
entire  self.  Otherwise  capacities  and  desires  which  will 
occur  later  will  be  inconsistent  and  antagonistic,  and 
conduct  will  be  unregulated  and  unstable.  The  under- 
lying idea  in  "temperance"  is  then  a  care  of  details  for  the 
sake  of  the  whole  course  of  behavior  of  which  they  are 
parts ;  heedfulness,  painstaking  devotion.  Laxness  in  con- 
duct means  carelessness;  lack  of  regard  for  the  whole  life 
permits  temporary  inclinations  to  get  a  sway  that  the 
outcome  will  not  justify.  In  its  more  striking  forms, 
we  call  this  care  and  respect  reverence;  recognition  of  the 
unique,  invaluable  worth  embodied  in  any  situation  or 
act  of  life,  a  recognition  which  checks  that  flippancy  of 
surrender  to  momentary  excitement  coming  from  a  super- 
ficial view  of  behavior.  A  sense  of  momentous  issues 
at  stake  means  a  sobering  and  deepening  of  the  men- 
tal attitude.  The  consciousness  that  every  deed  of 
life  has  an  import  clear  beyond  its  immediate,  or  first 
significance,  attaches  dignity  to  every  act.  To  live 
in  the  sense  of  the  larger  values  attaching  to  our  pass- 
ing desires  and  deeds  is  to  be  possessed  by  the  virtue  of 
temperance. 

Control  of  Excitement.' — What  hinders  such  living  is, 
as  we  have  seen,  the  exaggerated  intensity,  the  lack  of  pro- 
portion and  perspective,  with  which  any  appetite  or  de- 
sire is  likely  to  present  itself.  It  is  this  which  moralists  of 
all  ages  have  attacked  under  the  name  of  pleasure — the  al- 
luring and  distracting  power  of  the  momentarily  agree- 
able. Seeing  in  this  the  enemy  which  prevents  the  rational 
survey  of  the  whole  field  and  the  calm,  steady  insight  into 
the  true  good,  it  is  hardly  surprising  that  moralists  have 
attacked  "pleasure"  as  the  source  of  every  temptation  to 
stray  from  the  straight  path  of  reason.  But  it  is  not 
pleasure,  it  is  one  form  of  pleasure,  the  'pleasure  of  excite- 


TEMPERANCE  409 

menty  which  is  the  obstacle  and  danger.^  Every  impulse 
and  desire  marks  a  certain  disturbance  in  the  order  of 
life,  an  exaltation  above  the  existing  level,  a  pressure 
beyond  its  existing  limit.  To  give  way  to  desire,  to  let  it 
grow,  to  taste  to  the  full  its  increasing  and  intensifying 
excitement,  is  the  temptation.  The  bodily  appetites  of 
hunger  and  thirst  and  sex,  with  which  we  associate  the 
grossest  forms  of  indulgence  and  laxity,  exemplify  the 
principle  of  expanding  waves  of  organic  stimulation.  But 
so  also  do  many  of  the  subtler  forms  of  unrestraint  or  in- 
temperate action.  The  one  with  a  clever  and  lively  tongue 
is  tempted  to  let  it  run  away  with  him;  the  vain  man 
feeds  upon  the  excitement  of  a  personality  heightened  by 
display  and  the  notice  of  others ;  the  angry  man,  even 
though  he  knows  he  will  later  regret  his  surrender,  gives 
away  to  the  sense  of  expanding  power  coincident  with 
his  discharge  of  rage.  The  shiftless  person  finds  it  easier 
to  take  chances  and  let  consequences  take  care  of  them- 
selves, while  he  enjoys  local  and  casual  stimulations.  Triv- 
ialities and  superficialities  entangle  us  in  a  flippant  life, 
because  each  one  as  it  comes  promises  to  be  "thrill- 
ing," while  the  very  fear  that  this  promise  will  not 
be  kept  hurries  us  on  to  new  experiences.  To  think  of 
alternatives  and  consequences  is  not  "thrilling,"  but 
serious. 

Necessity  of  Superior  Interest. — Now  calculation  of 
the  utilitarian  type  is  not  adequate  to  deal  with  this  temp- 
tation. Those  who  are  prone  to  reflection  upon  results 
are  just  those  who  are  least  likely  to  be  carried  away  by 
excitement — unless,   as  is  the  case  with  some  specialists, 

^  Says  Hazlitt,  "The  charm  of  criminal  life,  like  that  of  savage 
life,  consists  in  liberty,  in  hardship,  in  danger,  and  in  the  contempt 
of  death:  in  one  word,  in  extraordinary  excitement"  (Essay  on 
Bentham).  But  this  is  equally  true  in  principle  (though  not  in 
degree)  of  every  temptation  to  turn  from  the  straight  and  narrow 
path.  Virtue  seems  dull  and  sober,  uninteresting,  in  comparison 
with  the  increasing  excitation  of  some  desire.  There  are  as  many 
forms  of  excitement  as  there  are  individual  men. 


410  THE  VIRTUES 

thinking  is  itself  the  mode  of  indulgence  in  excitement.^ 
With  those  who  are  carried  away  habitually  by  some  mode 
of  excitement,  the  disease  and  the  incapacity  to  take  the 
proffered  remedy  of  reflection  are  the  same  thing.  Only 
some  other  passion  will  accomplish  the  desired  control. 
With  the  Greeks,  it  was  sesthetic  passion,  love  of  the  grace 
and  beauty,  the  rhythm  and  harmony,  of  a  self-controlled 
life.  With  the  Romans,  it  was  the  passion  for  dignity, 
power,  honor  of  personality,  evidenced  in  rule  of  appetite. 
Both  of  these  motives  remain  among  the  strong  allies  of 
ordered  conduct.  But  the  passion  for  purity,  the  sense 
of  something  degrading  and  foul  in  surrender  to  the  base, 
an  interest  in  something  spotless,  free  from  adultera- 
tion, are,  in  some  form  or  other,  the  chief  resource  in  over- 
coming the  tendency  of  excitement  to  usurp  the  governance 
of  the  self." 


§  2.    COURAGE    OR    PERSISTENT    VIGOR 

While  love  of  excitement  allures  man  from  the  path  of 
reason,  fear  of  pain,  dislike  to  hardship,  and  laborious 
effort,  hold  him  back  from  entering  it.  Dislike  of  the  dis- 
agreeable inhibits  or  contracts  the  putting  forth  of  energy, 
just  as  liking  for  agreeable  stimulation  discharges  and 
exhausts  it.  Intensity  of  active  interest  in  the  good  alone 
subdues  that  instinctive  shrinking  from  the  unpleasant 
and  hard  which  slackens  energy  or  turns  it  aside.     Such 

*  There  is  something  of  the  nature  of  gambling,  of  taking  chances 
on  future  results  for  the  sake  of  present  stimulation,  in  all  unre- 
straint or  intemperate  action.  And  the  reflection  of  the  specialist — 
that  is,  the  one  whose  reflection  is  not  subjected  to  responsible  tests 
in  social  behavior — is  a  more  or  less  exciting  adventure — a  "specu- 
lation." 

*  In  the  last  words  of  Spinoza's  Ethics,  "No  one  delights  in  the 
good  because  he  curbs  his  appetites,  but  because  we  delight  in  the 
good  we  are  able  to  curb  our  lusts." 

'  What  has  been  said  about  Self-assertion,  in  the  last  chapter, 
anticipates  in  some  measure  what  holds  of  this  virtue. 


COURAGE  OR  PERSISTENT  VIGOR      411 

energy  of  devotion  is  courage.  Its  etymological  connec- 
tion with  the  Latin  word  for  heart,  suggests  a  certain 
abundant  spontaneity,  a  certain  overflow  of  positive 
energy ;  the  word  was  applied  to  this  aspect  of  virtue  when 
the  heart  was  regarded  as  literally  (not  metaphorically) 
the  seat  of  vital  impulse  and  abundant  forcefulness. 

Courage  and  the  Common  Good. — One  of  the  prob- 
lems of  early  Greek  thought  was  that  of  discriminating 
courage  as  virtuous  from  a  sort  of  animal  keenness  and 
alacrity,  easily  running  into  recklessness  and  bravado.  It 
was  uniformly  differentiated  from  mere  overflow  of  physi- 
cal energy  by  the  fact  that  it  was  exhibited  in  support  of 
some  common  or  social  good.  It  bore  witness  to  its  volun- 
tary character  by  abiding  in  the  face  of  threatened  evil. 
Its  simplest  form  was  patriotism — willingness  to  brave  the 
danger  of  death  in  facing  the  country's  enemy  from  love 
of  country.  And  this  basic  largeness  of  spirit  in  which 
the  individual  sinks  considerations  of  personal  loss  and 
harm  in  allegiance  to  an  objective  good  remains  a  cardinal 
aspect  of  all  right  disposition. 

Courage  is  Preeminently  the  Executive  Side  of  Every 
Virtue. — The  good  will,  as  we  saw,  means  endeavor,  eff^ort, 
towards  certain  ends ;  unless  the  end  stirs  to  strenuous  exer- 
tion, it  is  a  sentimental,  not  a  moral  or  practical  end.  And 
endeavor  implies  obstacles  to  overcome,  resistance  to  what 
diverts,  painful  labor.  It  is  the  degree  of  threatened  harm 
— in  spite  of  which  one  does  not  swerve — which  measures 
this  depth  and  sincerity  of  interest  in  the  good. 

Aspects  of  Interest  in  Execution. — Certain  formal 
traits  of  courage  follow  at  once  from  this  general  defini- 
tion. In  its  onset,  willingness  in  behalf  of  the  common 
good  to  endure  attendant  private  evils  is  alacrity,  prompt- 
ness. In  its  abiding  and  unswerving  devotion,  it  is  con- 
stancy, loyalty,  and  faithfulness.  In  its  continual  resist- 
ance to  evil,  it  is  fortitude,  patience,  perseverance,  will- 
ingness to  abide  for  justification  an  ultimate  issue.     The 


412  THE  VIRTUES 

totality  of  commitment  of  self  to  the  good  is  decision  and 
firmness.  Conviction  and  resolution  accompany  all  true 
moral  endeavor.  These  various  dimensions  (intensity,  du- 
ration, extent,  and  fullness)  are,  however,  only  differing 
expressions  of  one  and  the  same  attitude  of  vigorous,  ener- 
getic identification  of  agency  with  the  object. 

Goodness  and  Effectiveness. — It  is  the  failure  to  give 
due  weight  to  this  factor  of  morality  (the  'Vorks"  of  theo- 
logical discussion)  which  is  responsible  for  the  not  uncom- 
mon idea  that  moral  goodness  means  loss  of  practical  effi- 
cacy. When  inner  disposition  is  severed  from  outer  ac- 
tion, wishing  divorced  from  executive  willing,  morality  is 
reduced  to  mere  harmlessness ;  outwardly  speaking,  the  best 
that  can  then  be  said  of  virtue  is  that  it  is  innocent  and 
innocuous.  Unscrupulousness  is  identified  with  energy  of 
execution;  and  a  minute  and  paralyzing  scrupulosity  with 
goodness.  It  is  in  reaction  from  such  futile  morality  that 
the  gospel  of  force  and  of  shrewdness  of  selecting  and 
adapting  means  to  the  desired  end,  is  preached  and  gains 
hearers — as  in  the  Italy  of  the  Renaissance  ^  in  reaction 
against  mediaeval  piety,  and  again  in  our  own  day  (see 
ante,  p.  374). 

Moral  Courage  and  Optimism. — ^A  characteristic  mod- 
ern development  of  courageousness  is  implied  in  the  phrase 
"moral  courage," — as  if  all  genuine  courage  were  not 
moral.  It  means  devotion  to  the  good  in  the  face  of  the 
customs  of  one's  friends  and  associates,  rather  than  against 
the  attacks  of  one's  enemies.  It  is  willingness  to  brave 
for  sake  of  a  new  idea  of  the  good  the  unpopularity  that 
attends  breach  of  custom  and  convention.  It  is  this 
type  of  heroism,  manifested  in  integrity  of  memory  and 
foresight,  which  wins  the  characteristic  admiration  of 
to-day,  rather  than  the  outward  heroism  of  bearing 
wounds  and  undergoing  physical  dangers.     It  is  attention 

*  See  Sumner,  Folkioays,  ch.  xx. 


COURAGE  OR  PERSISTENT  VIGOR       413 

upon  which  the  stress  falls. ^  This  supplies,  perhaps, 
the  best  vantage  point  from  which  to  survey  optimism 
and  pessimism  in  their  direct  moral  bearings.  The  indi- 
vidual whose  pursuit  of  the  good  is  colored  by  honest 
recognition  of  existing  and  threatening  evils  is  almost  al- 
ways charged  with  being  a  pessimist ;  with  cynical  delight 
in  dwelling  upon  what  is  morbid,  base,  or  sordid ;  and  he  is 
urged  to  be  an  "optimist,"  meaning  in  effect  to  conceal 
from  himself  and  others  evils  that  obtain.  Optimism,  thus 
conceived,  is  a  combination  of  building  rosy-colored  castles 
in  the  air  and  hiding,  ostrich-like,  from  actual  facts. 
As  a  general  thing,  it  will  be  those  who  have  some  interest 
at  stake  in  evils  remaining  unperceived,  and  hence  unrem- 
edied, who  most  clamor  in  the  cause  of  such  "optimism." 
Hope  and  aspiration,  belief  in  the  supremacy  of  good  in 
spite  of  all  evil,  belief  in  the  realizability  of  good  in  spite 
of  all  obstacles,  are  necessary  inspirations  in  the  life  of 
virtue.  The  good  can  never  be  demonstrated  to  the  senses, 
nor  be  proved  by  calculations  of  personal  profit.  It  in- 
volves a  radical  venture  of  the  will  in  the  interest  of  what  is 
unseen  and  prudentially  incalculable.  But  such  optimism 
of  will,  such  determination  of  the  man  that,  so  far  as  his 
choice  is  concerned,  only  the  good  shall  be  recognized  as 
real,  is  very  different  from  a  sentimental  refusal  to  look  at 
the  realities  of  the  situation  just  as  they  are.  In  fact  a  cer- 
tain intellectual  pessimism,  in  the  sense  of  a  steadfast  will- 
ingness to  uncover  sore  points,  to  acknowledge  and  search 
for  abuses,  to  note  how  presumed  good  often  serves  as  a 
cloak  for  actual  bad,  is  a  necessary  part  of  the  moral  op- 
timism which  actively  devotes  itself  to  making  the  right 
prevail.  Any  other  view  reduces  the  aspiration  and  hope, 
which  are  the  essence  of  moral  courage,  to  a  cheerful  ani- 
mal buoyancy;  and,  in  its  failure  to  see  the  evil  done  to 
others  in  its  thoughtless  pursuit  of  what  it  calls  good,  is 

*  Upon  this  point  see  James,  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.   II., 
pp.  561-567,  and  Royce,  World  and  Individualy  Vol.  II.,  pp.  354-360. 


414  THE  VIRTUES 

nextdoor  to  brutality,  to  a  brutality  bathed  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  sentimentality  and  flourishing  the  catchwords  of 
idealism. 

§  3.    JUSTICE 

In  Ethical  Literature  Justice  Has  Borne  at  Least 
Three  Different  Senses. — In  its  widest  sense,  it  means 
righteousness,  uprightness,  rectitude.  It  sums  up  mo- 
rality. It  is  not  a  virtue,  but  it  is  virtue.  The  just  act  is 
the  due  act;  justice  is  fulfillment  of  obligation.  (2)  This 
passes  over  into  fairness,  equity,  impartiality,  honesty  in 
all  one's  dealing  with  others.  (3)  The  narrowest  meaning 
is  that  of  vindication  of  right  through  the  administration 
of  law.^  Since  Aristotle's  time  (and  following  his  treat- 
ment) this  has  been  divided  into  (i.)  the  distributive ,  hav- 
ing to  do  with  the  assignment  of  honor,  wealth,  etc.,  in  pro- 
portion to  desert,  and  (ii.)  the  corrective,  vindicating  the 
law  against  the  transgressor  by  effecting  a  requital,  re- 
dress, which  restores  the  supremacy  of  law. 

A  Thread  of  Common  Significance  Runs  through 
These  Various  Meanings. — The  rational  good  means  a 
comprehensive  or  complete  end,  in  which  are  harmoniously 
included  a  variety  of  special  aims  and  values.  The  just 
man  is  the  man  who  takes  in  the  whole  of  a  situation  and 
reacts  to  it  in  its  wholeness,  not  being  misled  by  undue 
respect  to  some  particular  factor.  Since  the  general  or 
inclusive  good  is  a  common  or  social  good,  reconciling  and 
combining  the  ends  of  a  multitude  of  private  or  particular 
persons,  justice  is  the  preeminently  social  virtue:  that 
which  maintains  the  due  order  of  individuals  in  the  inter- 
est of  the  comprehensive  or  social  unity. 

Justice,  as  equity,  fairness,  impartiality,  honesty, 
carries  the  recognition  of  the  whole  over  into  the  ques- 
tion of  right  distribution  and  apportionment  among  its 

*  This  receives  more  attention  in  ch.  xxi.  of  Part  III. 


JUSTICE  415 

parts.  The  equitable  judge  or  administrator  is  the  one 
who  makes  no  unjustifiable  distinctions  among  those  dealt 
with.  A  fair  price  is  one  which  recognizes  the  rights  of 
both  buyer  and  seller.  An  honest  man  is  the  one  who,  with 
respect  to  whatever  he  has  to  distribute  to  others  and  to 
receive  from  them,  is  desirous  of  giving  and  taking  just 
what  belongs  to  each  party  concerned.  The  fair-minded 
man  is  not  bribed  by  pleasure  into  giving  undue  impor- 
tance to  some  element  of  good  nor  coerced  by  fear  of  pain 
into  ignoring  some  other.  He  distributes  his  attention, 
regard,  and  attachment  according  to  the  reasonable  or 
objective  claims  of  each  factor. 

Justice  and  Sympathy  or  Love. — The  most  significant 
questions  regarding  justice  are  as  to  its  connection  with 
love  and  with  condemnation  and  punishment.  It  is  a  com- 
mon notion  that  justice  is  harsh  or  hard  in  its  workings  and 
that  it  requires  to  be  supplemented,  if  not  replaced,  by 
mercy.  Taken  literally  this  would  mean  that  justice 
is  not  just  in  its  workings.  The  truth  contained  is  that 
what  is  frequently  regarded  as  justice  is  not  justice,  but 
an  imperfect  substitute  for  it.  When  a  legal  type  of  mo- 
rality is  current,  justice  is  regarded  as  the  working  of 
some  fixed  and  abstract  law;  it  is  the  law  as  law  which  is 
to  be  reverenced;  it  is  law  as  law  whose  majesty  is  to  be 
vindicated.  It  is  forgotten  that  the  nobility  and  dignity 
of  law  are  due  to  the  place  of  law  in  securing  the  order 
involved  in  the  realization  of  human  happiness.  Then  the 
law  instead  of  being  a  servant  of  the  good  is  put  arbi- 
trarily above  it,  as  if  man  was  made  for  law,  not  law  for 
man.  The  result  is  inevitably  harshness ;  indispensable 
factors  of  happiness  are  ruthlessly  slighted,  or  ruled  out ; 
the  loveliness  and  grace  of  behavior  responding  freely 
and  flexibly  to  the  requirements  of  unique  situations  are 
stiffened  into  uniformity.  The  formula  summum  jus 
summa  injuria  expresses  the  outcome  when  abstract  law 
is  insisted  upon  without  reference  to  the  needs  of  con- 


416  THE  VIRTUES 

Crete  cases.  Under  such  conditions,  there  arises  a  demand 
for  tempering  the  sternness  of  justice  with  mercy,  and 
supplementing  the  severity  of  law  with  grace.  This  de- 
mand means  that  the  neglected  human  values  shall  be 
restored  into  the  idea  of  what  is  just. 

"Social  Justice." — Our  own  time  has  seen  a  generous 
quickening  of  the  idea  of  social  justice  due  to  the  growth 
of  love,  or  philanthropy,  as  a  working  social  motive.  In 
the  older  scheme  of  morals,  justice  was  supposed  to  meet 
all  the  necessary  requirements  of  virtue;  charity  was  do- 
ing good  in  ways  not  obligatory  or  strictly  exacted.  Hence 
it  was  a  source  of  peculiar  merit  in  the  doer,  a  means  of 
storing  up  a  surplus  of  virtue  to  offset  vice.  But  a 
more  generous  sense  of  inherent  social  relationships  bind- 
ing the  aims  of  all  into  one  comprehensive  good,  which 
is  the  result  of  increase  of  human  intercourse,  democratic 
institutions,  and  biological  science,  has  made  men  recog- 
nize that  the  greater  part  of  the  sufferings  and  miseries 
which  afford  on  the  part  of  a  few  the  opportunity  for 
charity  (and  hence  superior  merit),  are  really  social  in- 
equities, due  to  causes  which  may  be  remedied.  That  jus- 
tice requires  radical  improvement  of  these  conditions  dis- 
places the  notion  that  their  effects  may  be  here  and  there 
palliated  by  the  voluntary  merit  of  morally  superior  indi- 
viduals. The  change  illustrates,  on  a  wide  scale,  the 
transformation  of  the  conception  of  justice  so  that  it  joins 
hands  with  love  and  sympathy.  That  human  nature  should 
have  j  ustice  done  it  under  all  circumstances  is  an  infinitely 
complicated  and  difficult  requirement,  and  only  a  vision 
of  the  capacities  and  accomplishments  of  human  beings 
rooted  in  affection  and  sympathy  can  perceive  and  execute 
justly. 

Transformation  of  Punitive  Justice. —  The  conception 
of  punitive  or  corrective  justice  is  undergoing  the  same 
transformation.  Aristotle  stated  the  rule  of  equity  in 
the  case  of  wrongdoing  as  an  arithmetical  requital:  the 


JUSTICE  417 

individual  was  to  suffer  according  to  his  deed.  Later, 
through  conjunction  with  the  idea  of  a  divine  judge  in- 
flicting retribution  upon  the  sinner,  this  notion  passed  into 
the  belief  that  punishment  is  a  form  of  justice  restoring 
the  balance  of  disturbed  law  by  inflicting  suffering  upon 
the  one  who  has  done  wrong.  The  end  and  aim  of  punish- 
ment was  retribution,  bringing  back  to  the  agent  the  evil 
consequences  of  his  own  deed.  That  punishment  is  suffer- 
ing, that  it  inevitably  involves  pain  to  the  guilty  one,  there 
can  be  no  question;  this,  whether  the  punishment  is  ex- 
ternally inflicted  or  is  in  the  pangs  of  conscience,  and 
whether  administered  by  parent,  teacher,  or  civil  author- 
ity. But  that  suffering  is  for  the  sake  of  suffering,  or 
that  suffering  can  in  any  way  restore  or  affect  the  violated 
majesty  of  law,  is  a  different  matter. 

What  erring  human  nature  deserves  or  merits,  it  is  just 
it  should  have.  But  in  the  end,  a  moral  agent  deserves 
to  be  a  moral  agent ;  and  hence  deserves  that  punishments 
inflicted  should  be  corrective,  not  merely  retributive. 
Every  wrongdoer  should  have  his  due.  But  what  is  his 
due.?  Can  we  measure  it  by  his  past  alone;  or  is  it  due 
every  one  to  regard  him  as  a  man  with  a  future  as  well? 
as  having  possibilities  for  good  as  well  as  achievements  in 
bad.'^  Those  who  are  responsible  for  the  infliction  of  pun- 
ishment have,  as  well  as  those  punished,  to  meet  the  re- 
quirements of  justice;  and  failure  to  employ  the  means 
and  instrumentalities  of  punishment  in  a  way  to  lead,  so 
far  as  possible,  the  wrongdoer  to  reconsideration  of  conduct 
and  re-formation  of  disposition,  cannot  shelter  itself 
under  the  plea  that  it  vindicates  law.  Such  failure  comes 
rather  from  thoughtless  custom;  from  a  lazy  unwilling- 
ness to  find  better  means ;  from  an  admixture  of  pride 
with  lack  of  sympathy  for  others ;  from  a  desire  to  main- 
tain things  as  they  are  rather  than  go  to  the  causes  which 
generate  criminals. 


418  THE  VIRTUES 

§  4.    WISDOM    OR    CONSCIENTIOUSNESS 

As  we  have  repeatedly  noted,  the  heart  of  a  voluntary 
act  is  its  intelligent  or  deliberate  character.  The  indi- 
vidual's intelligent  concern  for  the  good  is  implied  in  his 
sincerity,  his  faithfulness,  and  his  integrity.  Of  all  the 
habits  which  constitute  the  character  of  an  individual,  the 
habit  of  judging  moral  situations  is  the  most  important, 
for  this  is  the  key  to  the  direction  and  to  the  remaking  of 
all  other  habits.  When  an  act  is  overt,  it  is  irretrievably 
launched.  The  agent  has  no  more  control.  The  moral 
life  has  its  center  in  the  periods  of  suspended  and  post- 
poned action,  when  the  energy  of  the  individual  is  spent 
in  recollection  and  foresight,  in  severe  inquiry  and  serious 
consideration  of  alternative  aims.  Only  through  reflection 
can  habits,  however  good  in  their  origin  and  past  exercise, 
be  readapted  to  the  needs  of  the  present;  only  through 
reflection  can  impulses,  not  yet  having  found  direction,  be 
guided  into  the  haven  of  a  reasonable  happiness. 

Greek  Emphasis  upon  Insight  or  Wisdom. — It  is  not 
surprising  that  the  Greeks,  the  first  seriously  to  inquire 
into  the  nature  of  behavior  and  its  end  or  good,  should 
have  eulogized  wisdom,  insight,  as  the  supreme  virtue  and 
the  source  of  all  the  virtues.  Now,  indeed,  it  seems  para- 
doxical to  say  with  Socrates  that  ignorance  is  the  only 
vice;  that  man  is  bad  not  voluntarily,  from  deliberate 
choice,  but  only  from  ignorance.  But  this  is  largely  be- 
cause we  discriminate  between  difl^erent  kinds  of  knowledge 
as  the  Greek  did  not,  and  as  they  had  no  occasion  for 
doing.  We  have  a  second-hand  knowledge,  a  knowledge 
from  books,  newspapers,  etc.,  which  was  practically  non- 
existent even  in  the  best  days  of  Athens.  Knowledge  meant 
to  them  something  more  personal;  something  like  what  we 
call  a  "realizing  sense" ;  an  intimate  and  well-founded  con- 
viction. To  us  knowledge  suggests  information  about  what 
others  have  found  out,  and  hence  is  more  remote  in  its 


WISDOM  OR  CONSCIENTIOUSNESS        419 

meaning.  Greek  knowledge  was  mostly  directly  connected 
with  the  affairs  of  their  common  associated  life.  The  very 
words  for  knowledge  and  art,  understanding  and  skill,  were 
hardly  separated.  Knowledge  was  knowledge  about  the 
city,  its  traditions,  literature,  history,  customs,  purposes, 
etc.  Their  astronomy  was  connected  with  their  civic  reli- 
gion; their  geography  with  their  own  topography;  their 
mathematics  with  their  civil  and  military  pursuits.  Now 
we  have  immense  bodies  of  impersonal  knowledge,  remote 
from  direct  bearing  upon  affairs.  Knowledge  has  accord- 
ingly subdivided  itself  into  theoretical  or  scientific  and 
practical  or  moral.  We  use  the  term  knowledge  usually 
only  for  the  first  kind;  hence  the  Socratic  position  seems 
gratuitously  paradoxical.  But  under  the  titles  of  con- 
science and  conscientiousness  we  preserve  the  meaning 
which  was  attached  to  the  term  knowledge.  It  is  not  para- 
doxical to  say  that  unconscientiousness  is  the  fundamental 
vice,  and  genuine  conscientiousness  is  guarantee  of  all 
virtue. 

Conscientiousness. — In  this  change  from  Greek  wisdom 
to  modern  conscientiousness  there  have  been  some  loss  and 
some  gain.  The  loss  lies  in  a  certain  hardening  of  the 
idea  of  insight  and  deliberation,  due  to  the  isolation  of  the 
moral  good  from  the  other  goods  of  life.  The  good  man 
and  the  bad  man  have  been  endowed  with  the  same  faculty ; 
and  this  faculty  has  been  treated  as  automatically  deliver- 
ing correct  conclusions.  On  the  other  hand,  modern  con- 
scientiousness contains  less  of  the  idea  of  intellectual  ac- 
complishment, and  more  of  the  idea  of  interest  in  finding 
out  the  good  in  conduct.  "Wisdom"  tended  to  emphasize 
achieved  insight;  knowledge  which  was  proved,  guaran- 
teed, and  unchangeable.  "Conscientiousness"  tends  rather 
to  fix  attention  upon  that  voluntary  attitude  which  is 
interested  in  discovery. 

This  implies  a  pretty  radical  change  in  wisdom  as  virtue. 
In  the  older  sense  it  is  an  attainment ;  something  possessed. 


420  THE  VIRTUES 

In  the  modern,  it  resides  in  the  active  desire  and  effort, 
in  pursuit  rather  than  in  possession.  The  attainment  of 
knowledge  varies  with  original  intellectual  endowment; 
with  opportunity  for  leisurely  reflection;  with  all  sorts  of 
external  conditions.  Possession  is  a  class  idea  and  tends  to 
mark  off  a  moral  aristocracy  from  a  common  herd.  Since 
the  activities  of  the  latter  must  be  directed,  on  this  as- 
sumption, by  attained  knowledge,  its  practical  outcome  is 
the  necessity  of  the  regulation  of  their  conduct  by  the 
wisdom  possessed  by  the  superior  class.  When,  however, 
the  morally  important  thing  is  the  desire  and  effort  to 
discover  the  good,  every  one  is  on  the  same  plane,  in  spite 
of  differences  in  intellectual  endowment  and  in  learning. 

Moral  knowing,  as  a  fundamental  or  cardinal  aspect  of 
virtue,  is  then  the  completeness  of  the  interest  in  good 
exhibited  in  effort  to  discover  the  good.  Since  know- 
ing involves  two  factors,  a  direct  and  an  indirect,  con- 
scientiousness involves  both  sensitiveness  and  reflectiveness.^ 

(i)  Moral  Sensitiveness. — The  individual  who  is  not 
directly  aware  of  the  presence  of  values  needing  to  be  per- 
petuated or  achieved,  in  the  things  and  persons  about  him, 
is  hard  and  callous  or  tough.  A  "tender"  conscience  is  one 
which  is  immediately  responsive  to  the  presentation  of  good 
and  evil.  The  modern  counterpart  to  the  Socratic  doc- 
trine that  ignorance  is  the  root  of  vice,  is  that  being 
morally  "cold"  or  "dead,"  being  indifferent  to  moral  dis- 
tinctions, is  the  most  hopeless  of  all  conditions.  One  who 
cares,  even  if  he  cares  in  the  wrong  way,  has  at  least  a 
spring  that  may  be  touched;  the  one  who  is  just  irre- 
sponsive offers  no  leverage  for  correction  or  improvement. 

(2)  Thoughtfulness. — While  the  possession  of  such 
an  immediate,  unreflective  responsiveness  to  elements  of 
good  and  bad  must  be  the  mainstay  of  moral  wisdom,  the 
character  which  lies  back  of  these  intuitive  apprehensions 

^  Compare  what  was   said   concerning  the  intuitive  and  the  dis- 
cursive factors  in  moral  knowledge  in  ch.  xvi. 


WISDOM  OR  CONSCIENTIOUSNESS        421 

must  be  thoughtful  and  serious-minded.  There  is  no  indi- 
vidual who,  however  morally  sensitive,  can  dispense  with 
cool,  calm  reflection,  or  whose  intuitive  judgments,  if 
reliable,  are  not  largely  the  funded  outcome  of  prior 
thinking.  Every  voluntary  act  is  intelligent :  i.e.,  includes 
an  idea  of  the  end  to  be  reached  or  the  consequences  to 
accrue.  Such  ends  are  ideal  in  the  sense  that  they  are 
present  to  thought,  not  to  sense.  But  special  ends,  be- 
cause they  are  limited,  are  not  what  we  mean  by  ideals. 
They  are  specific.  With  the  growth  of  the  habit  of  reflec- 
tion, agents  become  conscious  that  the  values  of  their  par- 
ticular ends  are  not  circumscribed,  but  extend  far  beyond 
the  special  case  in  question ;  so  far  indeed  that  their  range 
of  influence  cannot  be  foreseen  or  defined.  A  kindly  act 
may  not  only  have  the  particular  consequence  of  relieving 
present  suff^ering,  but  may  make  a  difference  in  the  entire 
life  of  its  recipient,  or  may  set  in  radically  diff^erent  direc- 
tions the  interest  and  attention  of  the  one  who  performs  it. 
These  larger  and  remoter  values  in  any  moral  act  tran- 
scend the  end  which  was  consciously  present  to  its  doer. 
The  person  has  always  to  aim  at  something  definite,  but 
as  he  becomes  aware  of  this  penumbra  or  atmosphere  of 
far-reaching  ulterior  values  the  meaning  of  his  special  act 
is  thereby  deepened  and  widened.  An  act  is  outwardly 
temporary  and  circumstantial,  but  its  meaning  is  per- 
manent and  expansive.  The  act  passes  away ;  but  its  sig- 
nificance abides  in  the  increment  of  meaning  given  to 
further  growth.  To  live  in  the  recognition  of  this  deeper 
meaning  of  acts  is  to  live  in  the  ideal,  in  the  only  sense 
in  which  it  is  profitable  for  man  to  dwell  in  the  ideal. 

Our  "idealsy'*  our  types  of  excellence,  are  the  various 
ways  in  which  we  figure  to  ourselves  the  outreaching  and 
ever-expanding  values  of  our  concrete  acts.  Every  one 
achievement  of  good  deepens  and  quickens  our  sense  of 
the  inexhaustible  value  contained  in  every  right  act.  With 
achievement,  our  conception  of  the  possible  goods  of  life 


42^  THE  VIRTUES 

increases,  and  we  find  ourselves  called  to  live  upon  a  still 
deeper  and  more  thoughtful  plane.  An  ideal  is  not  some 
remote  all-exhaustive  goal,  a  fixed  summum  honum  with 
respect  to  which  other  things  are  only  means.  It  is  not 
something  to  be  placed  in  contrast  to  the  direct,  local, 
and  tangible  quality  of  our  actual  situations,  so  that  by 
contrast  these  latter  are  hghtly  esteemed  as  insignificant. 
On  the  contrary,  an  ideal  is  the  conviction  that  each  of 
these  special  situations  carries  with  it  a  final  value,  a  mean- 
ing which  in  itself  is  unique  and  inexhaustible.  To  set  up 
"ideals"  of  perfection  which  are  other  than  the  serious 
recognition  of  the  possibilities  of  development  resident 
in  each  concrete  situation,  is  in  the  end  to  pay  ourselves 
with  sentimentalities,  if  not  with  words,  and  meanwhile 
it  is  to  direct  thought  and  energy  away  from  the  situa- 
tions which  need  and  which  welcome  the  perfecting  care  of 
attention  and  affection. 

Thoughtfulness  and  Progress — This  sense  of  wider 
values  than  those  definitely  apprehended  or  definitely  at- 
tained is  a  constant  warning  to  the  individual  not  to  be 
content  with  an  accomplishment.  Conscientiousness  takes 
more  and  more  the  form  of  interest  in  improvement,  in 
progress.  Conscientiousness  as  sensitiveness  may  rest  upon 
the  plane  of  already  secured  satisfactions,  upon  discrimi- 
nating with  accuracy  their  quality  and  degree.  As 
thoughtfulness,  it  will  always  be  on  the  lookout  for  the 
better.  The  good  man  not  only  measures  his  acts  by  a 
standard,  but  he  is  concerned  to  revise  his  standard.  His 
sense  of  the  ideal,  of  the  undefinable  because  ever-expand- 
ing value  of  special  deeds,  forbids  his  resting  satisfied  with 
any  formulated  standard;  for  the  very  formulation  gives* 
the  standard  a  technical  quality,  while  the  good  can  be 
maintained  only  in  enlarging  excellence.  The  highest  form 
of  conscientiousness  is  interest  in  constant  progress. 

Love  and  Courage  Required  for  Thoughtfulness. — 
We  may  close  this  chapter  by  repeating  what  we  have 


WISDOM  OR  CONSCIENTIOUSNESS        423 

already  noted,  that  genuine  moral  knowledge  involves  the 
affections  and  the  resolute  will  as  well  as  the  intelligence. 
We  cannot  know  the  varied  elements  of  value  in  the  lives 
of  others  and  in  the  possibilities  of  our  own,  save  as  our 
affections  are  strong.  Every  narrowing  of  love,  every 
encroachment  of  egoism,  means  just  so  much  blindness 
to  the  good.  The  man  who  pleads  "good  motives"  as  excuse 
for  acts  which  injure  others  is  always  one  whose  absorption 
in  himself  has  wrought  harm  to  his  powers  of  perception. 
Every  widening  of  contact  with  others,  every  deepen- 
ing of  the  level  of  sympathetic  acquaintance,  magnifies  in 
so  much  vision  of  the  good.  Finally,  the  chief  ally  of 
moral  thoughtfulness  is  the  resolute  courage  of  willingness 
to  face  the  evil  for  the  sake  of  the  good.  Shrinking 
from  apprehension  of  the  evil  to  others  consequent  upon 
our  behavior,  because  such  realization  would  demand  pain- 
ful effort  to  change  our  own  plans  and  habits,  maintains 
habitual  dimness  and  narrowness  of  moral  vision. 


LITERATURE 

Upon  the  principle  of  virtue  in  general,  see  Plato,  Republic,  427- 
443;  Aristotle,  Ethics,  Books  II.  and  IV;  Kant,  Theory  of  Ethics 
(Abbott's  trans.),  pp.  164-182,  305,  316-322;  Green,  Prolegomena,  pp. 
256-314  (and  for  conscientiousness,  323-337) ;  Paulsen,  System  of 
Ethics,  pp.  475-482;  Alexander,  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  pp.  242- 
253;  Ladd,  Philosophy  of  Conduct,  chs.  x.  and  xiv.;  Stephen,  Science 
of  Ethics,  ch.  v.;  Spencer,  Principles  of  Ethics,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  3-34  and 
263-276;  Sidgwick,  Methods  of  Ethics,  pp.  2-5  and  9-10;  Rickaby, 
Aquinas  Ethicus,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  155-195;  Mezes,  Ethics,  chs.  ix.  and  xvi. 

For  natural  ability  and  virtue:  Hume,  Treatise,  Part  II.,  Book  III., 
and  Inquiry,  Appendix  IV.;  Bonar,  Intellectual  Virtues. 

For  discussions  of  special  virtues:  Aristotle,  Ethics,  Book  III., 
and  Book  VII.,  chs.  i.-x.;  for  justice:  Aristotle,  Ethics,  Book  V.; 
Rickaby,  Moral  Philosophy,  pp.  102-108,  and  Aquinas  Ethicus  (see 
Index);  Paulsen,  System  of  Ethics,  pp.  599-637;  Mezes,  Ethics,  ch. 
xiii.;  Mill,  Utilitarianism,  ch.  v.;  Sidgwick,  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book 
III.,  ch.  v.,  and  see  Index;  also  criticism  of  Spencer  in  his  Lectures 
on  the  Ethics  of  Green,  Spencer  and  Martineau,  pp.  272-302;  Spen- 
cer, Principles  of  Ethics,  Vol.  II.;  Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  ch.  v. 

For  benevolence,  see  Aristotle,  Ethics,  Books  VII.-IX.  (on  friend- 
ship);  Rickaby,  Moral  Philosophy,  pp.  237-244,  and  Aquinas  Ethicus 
(see  charity  and  almsgiving  in   Index) ;   Paulsen,  System^  chs.  viii. 


424  THE  VIRTUES 

and  X.  of  Part  III,;  Mezes,  Ethics,  ch.  xii.;  Sidgwick,  Methods  of 
Ethics,  Book  II.,  ch.  iv.;  Spencer,  Principles  of  Ethics,  Vol.  II.;  see 
also  the  references  under  sympathy  and  altruism  at  end  of  ch.  xviii. 
Courage  and  temperance  are  discussed  in  chs.  x.  and  xi.  of  Mezes;  in 
pp.  485-504  of  Paulsen;  pp.  327-336  of  Sidgwick;  ch.  xi^  of  Ladd's 
Philosophy  of  Conduct. 


PART  III 
THE  WORLD  OF  ACTION 


GENERAL  LITERATURE   FOR   PART  III 

Addams,  Democracy  and  Social  Ethics,  1902,  Newer  Ideals  of 
Peace,  1907;  Santayana,  The  Life  of  Reason,  Vol.  II.,  1905;  Berg- 
mann,  Ethik  als  Kulturphilosophie,  1904,  especially  pp.  154-304; 
Wundt,  Ethics,  Vol.  III.,  The  Principles  of  Morality  and  the  De- 
partments of  the  Moral  Life  (trans.  1901) ;  Spencer,  Principles  of 
Ethics,  1893,  Vol.  II.,  Principles  of  Sociology,  1882,  Vol.  I.,  Part  II.; 
Ritchie,  Studies  in  Political  and  Moral  Philosophy,  1888;  Bosanquet, 
Philosophical  Theory  of  the  State,  1899;  Willoughby,  Social  Justice, 
1900;  Cooley,  Human  Nature  and  the  Social  Order,  1902;  Paulsen, 
System  der  Ethik,  5th  ed.,  1900,  Book  IV.;  Runze,  Praktische  Ethik, 
1891;  Janet,  Histoire  de  la  Science  Politique  dans  ses  Rapports  avec 
la  Morale,  3d  ed.,  1887;  Plato,  The  Republic;  Aristotle,  Ethics,  Book 
v.,  and  Politics  (trans,  by  Welldon,  1883) ;  Hegel,  Philosophy  of 
Right  (pub.  1820,  trans,  by  Dyde,  1896) ;  Mackenzie,  An  Introduction 
to  Social  Philosophy,  1890;  Dunning,  History  of  Political  Theories, 
Vol.  I.,  1902,  Vol.  II.,  1905;  Stein,  Die  Sociale  Frage  im  Licht  der 
Philosophie,  1897. 


CHAPTER  XX 
SOCIAL  ORGANIZATION  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

Object  of  Part  and  Chapter. — The  history  of  morals 
manifests  a  twofold  movement.  It  reveals,  on  one  side, 
constantly  increasing  stress  on  individual  intelligence  and 
affection.  The  transformation  of  customary  into  reflective 
morals  is  the  change  from  "Do  those  things  which  our 
kin,  class,  or  city  do"  to  "Be  a  person  with  certain  habits 
of  desire  and  deliberation."  The  moral  history  of  the  race 
also  reveals  constantly  growing  emphasis  upon  the  social 
nature  of  the  objects  and  ends  to  which  personal  prefer- 
ences are  to  be  devoted.  While  the  agent  has  been  learn- 
ing that  it  is  his  personal  attitude  which  counts  in  his 
deeds,  he  has  also  learnt  that  there  is  no  attitude  which  is 
exclusively  private  in  scope,  none  which  does  not  need  to 
be  socially  valued  or  judged.  Theoretic  analysis  enforces 
the  same  lesson  as  history.  It  tells  us  that  moral  quality 
resides  in  the  habitual  dispositions  of  an  agent;  and  that 
it  consists  of  the  tendency  of  these  dispositions  to  secure 
(or  hinder)  values  which  are  sociably  shared  or  sharable. 

In  Part  One  we  sketched  the  historical  course  of  this  de- 
velopment ;  in  Part  Two  we  traced  its  theoretic  analysis.  In 
the  present  and  concluding  Part,  our  purpose  is  to  con- 
sider the  distinctively  social  aspects  of  morality.  We  shall 
consider  how  social  institutions  and  tendencies  supply 
value  to  the  activities  of  individuals,  impose  the  conditions 
of  the  formation  and  exercise  of  their  desires  and  aims; 
and,  especially,  how  they  create  the  peculiarly  urgent 
problems  of  contemporary  moral  life.     The  present  chap- 

427 


428         SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

ter  will  take  up  the  general  question,  that  of  the  relation 
of  social  organization  to  individual  life. 

§  1.    GROWTH  OF  INDIVIDUALITY  THROUGH  SOCIAI. 
ORGANIZATIONS 

From  one  point  of  view,  historic  development  represents 
the  increasing  liberation  of  individual  powers  from  rigid 
social  control.  Sir  John  Lubbock  remarks :  "  No  savage 
is  free.  All  over  the  world  his  daily  life  is  regulated  by  a 
complicated  and  apparently  most  inconvenient  set  of  cus- 
toms (as  forcible  as  laws),  of  quaint  prohibitions  and 
privileges."  Looked  at  from  another  point  of  view,  eman- 
cipation from  one  sort  of  social  organization  means  initia- 
tion into  some  other  social  order ;  the  individual  is  liberated 
from  a  small  and  fixed  (customary)  social  group,  to  be- 
come a  member  of  a  larger  and  progressive  society.  The 
history  of  setting  free  individual  power  in  desire,  thought, 
and  initiative  is,  upon  the  whole,  the  history  of  the  forma- 
tion of  more  complex  and  extensive  social  organizations. 
Movements  that  look  like  the  disintegration  of  the  order 
of  society,  when  viewed  with  reference  to  what  has  pre- 
ceded them,  are  factors  in  the  construction  of  a  new  social 
order,  which  allows  freer  play  to  individuals,  and  yet 
increases  the  number  of  social  groupings  and  the  depth  of 
social  combinations. 

This  fact  of  historical  development  is  well  summed  up  in 
the  following  words  of  Hobhouse,  set  forth  as  a  summary 
of  a  comprehensive  survey  of  the  historic  development  of 
law  and  justice,  of  the  family  including  the  status  of 
women  and  children,  of  the  relations  between  communities, 
and  between  classes,  the  rich  and  the  poor. 

He  says :  "  Amid  all  the  variety  of  social  institutions  and  the 
ebb  and  flow  of  historical  change,  it  is  possible  in  the  end  to 
detect  a  double  movement,  marking  the  transition  from  the 
lower  to  the  higher  levels  of  civilized  law  and  custom.    On  the 


GROWTH  OF  INDIVIDUALITY  429 

one  hand,,  the  social  order  is  strengthened  and  extended.  .  .  . 
On  this  side  the  individual  human  being  becomes  more  and 
more  subject  to  social  constraint,  and,  as  we  have  frequently 
seen,  the  changes  making  for  the  tightening  of  the  social  fabric 
may  diminish  the  rights  which  the  individual  or  large  classes 
of  individuals  can  claim.  ...  In  this  relation  liberty  and 
order  become  opposed.  But  the  opposition  is  not  essential. 
From  the  first  the  individual  relies  on  social  forces  to  main- 
tain him  in  his  rights,  and  in  the  higher  form  of  social  organ- 
ization we  have  seen  order  and  liberty  drawing  together  again. 
.  .  .  The  best  ordered  community  is  that  which  gives  most 
scope  to  its  component  members  to  make  the  best  of  them- 
selves, while  the  '  best '  in  human  nature  is  that  which  con- 
tributes to  the  harmony  and  onward  movement  of  society. 
.  .  .  The  responsible  human  being,  man  or  woman,  is  the 
center  of  modern  ethics  as  of  modern  law,  free  so  far  as  cus- 
tom and  law  are  concerned  to  make  his  own  life.  .  .  .  The 
social  nature  of  man  is  not  diminished  either  on  the  side  of 
its  needs  or  its  duties  by  the  fuller  recognition  of  personal 
rights.  The  difference  is  that,  so  far  as  rights  and  duties  are 
conceived  as  attaching  to  human  beings  as  such,  they  become 
universalized,  and  are  therefore  the  care  of  society  as  a 
whole  rather  than  of  any  partial  group  organization.**  ^ 

With  this  statement  may  be  compared  the  words  of  Green 
and  Alexander.  According  to  Green,  moral  progress 
consists  in  the  extension  of  the  area  or  range  of  persons 
whose  common  good  is  concerned,  and  in  the  deepening 
or  intensification  in  the  individual  of  his  social  interest: 
"the  settled  disposition  on  each  man's  part  to  make  the 
most  and  best  of  humanity  in  his  own  person  and  in  the 
person  of  others."  *  Alexander's  formulae  for  moral 
growth  are  the  "  laws  of  differentiation  and  of  com- 
prehension." The  first  means  diversification,  special- 
ization, differentiating  the  powers  of  an  individual  with 
increased  refinement  of  each.  The  law  of  comprehension 
means  the  steady  enlargement  of  the  size  and  scope  of 
the  social  group  (as  from  clan  to  modern  national  state) 

*  Vol.  I.,  pp.  367-368,  italics  not  in  original. 

*  P.  262  of  Prolegomena  to  Ethics;  see  chs.  iii.  and  iv.  of  Book  III, 


430         SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

with  its  increased  complexity  of  ways  in  which  men  are 
brought  into  contact  with  one  another/ 

Social  Life  Liberates  and  Directs  Individual  Energies. 
— Breadth  in  extent  of  community  life  goes  hand  in  hand 
with  multiplication  of  the  stimuli  which  call  out  an  indi- 
vidual's powers.  Diversification  of  social  activities  in- 
creases opportunities  for  his  initiative  and  endeavor.  Nar- 
row and  meager  social  life  means  limitation  of  the  scope 
of  activities  in  which  its  members  may  engage.  It  means 
little  occasion  for  the  exercise  of  deliberation  and  choice, 
without  which  character  is  both  immature  and  fossilized; 
it  means,  in  short,  restricted  personality.  But  a  rich  and 
varied  society,  one  which  liberates  powers  otherwise  torpid 
and  latent,  also  exacts  that  they  be  employed  in  ways  con- 
sistent with  its  own  interests.  A  society  which  is  extensive 
and  complex  would  dissolve  in  anarchy  and  confusion  were 
not  the  activities  of  its  various  members  upon  the  whole 
mutually  congruent.  The  world  of  action  is  a  world  of 
which  the  individual  is  one  limit,  and  humanity  the  other ; 
between  them  lie  all  sorts  of  associative  arrangements  of 
lesser  and  larger  scope,  families,  friendships,  schools, 
clubs,  organizations  for  making  or  distributing  goods,  for 
gathering  and  supplying  commodities ;  activities  politically 
organized  by  parishes,  wards,  villages,  cities,  countries, 
states,  nations.  Every  maladjustment  in  relations  among 
these  institutions  and  associated  activities  means  loss  and 
friction  in  the  relations  between  individuals;  and  thereby 
introduces  defect,  division,  and  restriction  into  the  vari- 
ous powers  which  constitute  an  individual.  All  harmonious 
cooperation  among  them  means  a  fuller  life  and  greater 
freedom  of  thought  and  action  for  the  individual  person. 

Order  and  Lav^^s. — The  world  of  action  as  a  scene  of 
organized  activities  going  on  in  regular  ways  ^  thus  pre- 

*  Alexander,  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  pp.  384-398. 

*  This  does  not  of  course  exclude  change  and  reform.  It  means 
that,  so  far  as  a  society  is  organized,  these  changes  themselves  occur 
in  regular  and  authorized  ways. 


GROWTH  OF  INDIVIDUALITY  431 

sents  a  public  or  common  order  and  authority,  with  its 
established  modes  of  operation,  its  laws.  Organized  in- 
stitutions, from  the  more  permanent  to  the  more  casual, 
with  their  orderly  rules  of  conduct,  are  not,  of  course, 
prior  to  individual  activity;  for  their  elements  are  indi- 
vidual activities  related  in  certain  ways.  But  with  respect 
to  any  one  individual  in  his  separate  or  distributive  ca- 
pacity, there  is  a  genuine  and  important  sense  in  which  the 
institution  comes  first.  A  child  is  born  into  an  already 
existing  family  with  habits  and  beliefs  already  formed,  not 
indeed  rigid  beyond  readaptation,  but  with  their  own 
order  (arrangements).  He  goes  to  schools  which  have 
their  established  methods  and  aims;  he  gradually  assumes 
membership  in  business,  civic,  and  political  organizations, 
with  their  own  settled  ways  and  purposes.  Only  in  par- 
ticipating in  already  fashioned  systems  of  conduct  does 
he  apprehend  his  own  powers,  appreciate  their  worth  and 
realize  their  posibilities,  and  achieve  for  himself  a  con- 
trolled and  orderly  body  of  physical  and  mental  habits. 
He  finds  the  value  and  the  principles  of  his  life,  his  satis- 
faction and  his  norms  of  authority,  in  being  a  member  of 
associated  groups  of  persons  and  in  playing  his  part  in 
their  maintenance  and  expansion. 

The  Social  and  the  Moral. — In  customary  society,  it[ 
does  not  occur  to  any  one  that  there  is  a  difference  be-j 
tween  what  he  ought  to  do,  i.e.,  the  moral,  and  what  those) 
about  him  customarily  do,  i.e.,  the  social.     The  socially  : 
established  is  the  moral.     Reflective  morality  brings  with 
it,  as  we  have  seen,  a  distinction.     A  thoughtfully  minded 
person  reacts  against  certain  institutions  and  habits  which 
obtain  in  his  social  environment ;  he  regards  certain  ideas, 
which  he  frames  himself  and  which  are  not  embodied  in 
social  habits,  as  more  moral  than  anything  existing  about 
him.     Such  reactions  against  custom  and  such  projections 
of  new  ideas  are  necessary  if  there  is  to  be  progress  in 
society.     But  unfortunately  it  has  often  been  forgotten 


432         SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

that  this  distinctly  personal  morality,  which  takes  its 
stand  against  some  established  usage,  and  which,  there- 
fore, for  the  time  being  has  its  abode  only  in  the  initiative 
and  effort  of  an  individual,  is  simply  the  means  of  social 
reconstruction.  It  is  treated  as  if  it  were  an  end  in  itself, 
and  as  if  it  were  something  higher  than  any  morality  which 
is  or  can  be  socially  embodied. 

At  some  periods,  this  view  has  led  to  a  monastic  retreat 
from  all  social  affairs  for  the  sake  of  cultivating  personal 
goodness.  At  other  times,  it  has  led  to  the  political  in- 
difference of  the  Cynic  and  Stoic.  For  ages,  it  led  to 
a  morality  of  "other  worldliness" ;  to  the  belief  that  true 
goodness  can  be  attained  only  in  another  kind  of  life  and 
world — a  belief  which  carried  with  it  relative  contempt  and 
neglect  of  concrete  social  conditions  in  this  life.  Social 
affairs  at  best  were  only  "secular"  and  temporal,  and, 
in  contrast  with  the  eternal  and  spiritual  salvation  of  the 
individual's  own  soul,  of  little  account.  After  the  Renais- 
sance and  the  Protestant  Revolt,  this  kind  of  moral 
individualism  persisted  in  different  forms.  Among  the 
hedonists,  it  took  the  form  of  assuming  that  while  social 
arrangements  are  of  very  great  importance,  their  im- 
portance lies  in  the  fact  that  they  hinder  or  help  indi- 
viduals in  the  attainment  of  their  own  private  pleasures. 
The  transcendentalists  (such  as  Kant)  asserted  that,  since 
morality  is  wholly  a  matter  of  the  inner  motive,  of  the 
personal  attitude  towards  the  moral  law,  social  conditions 
are  wholly  external.  Good  or  evil  lies  wholly  inside  the 
individual's  own  will.  Social  institutions  may  help  or 
hinder  the  outward  execution  of  moral  purpose;  they  may 
be  favorable  or  hostile  to  the  successful  outward  display 
of  virtue.  But  they  have  nothing  to  do  with  originating 
or  developing  the  moral  purpose,  the  Good  Will,  and  hence, 
in  themselves,  are  lacking  in  moral  significance..  Thus 
Kant  made  a  sharp  and  fast  distinction  between  moralityy 
appertaining  solely  to  the  individual's  own  inner  conscious- 


GROWTH  OF  INDIVIDUALITY  433 

ness,  and  legality,  appertaining  to  the  social  and  political 
conditions  of  outward  behavior.  Social  institutions  and 
laws  may  indeed  regulate  men's  outer  acts.  So  far  as  men 
externally  conform,  their  conduct  is  legal.  But  laws  can- 
not regulate  or  touch  men's  motives,  which  alone  determine 
the  morality  of  their  behavior. 

We  shall  not  repeat  here  our  prior  criticisms  of  hedonism 
and  utilitarianism  in  order  to  point  out  the  falsity  of  this 
division  of  moral  action  into  unrelated  inner  (or  private) 
and  outer  (or  social)  factors.  We  may  recall  to  memory, 
however,  that  Kant  himself  virtually  passed  beyond  his 
own  theory  of  moral  individualism  in  insisting  upon  the 
promotion  of  a  "  Kingdom  of  Ends,"  in  which  every  per- 
son is  to  be  treated  as  an  end  in  himself.  We  may  recall 
that  the  later  utilitarians  (such  as  Mill,  Leslie  Stephen, 
Bain,  and  Spencer)  insisted  upon  the  educative  value  of 
social  institutions,  upon  their  importance  in  forming  cer- 
tain interests  and  habits  in  the  individual.  Thus  social 
arrangements  were  taken  out  of  the  category  of  mere 
means  to  private  good,  and  made  the  necessary  factors 
and  conditions  of  the  development  of  an  individuality  which 
should  have  a  reasonable  and  just  conception  of  its  own 
nature  and  of  its  own  good.  We  may  also  enumerate  some 
of  the  more  fundamental  ways  in  which  social  institutions 
determine  individual  morality. 

1.  Apart  from  the  social  medium,  the  individual  would 
never  "know  himself";  he  would  never  become  acquainted 
with  his  own  needs  and  capacities.  He  would  live  the  life 
of  a  brute  animal,  satisfying  as  best  he  could  his  most 
urgent  appetites  of  hunger,  thirst,  and  sex,  but  being,  as 
regards  even  that,  handicapped  in  comparison  with  other 
animals.  And,  as  we  have  already  seen,  the  wider  and  the 
richer  the  social  relationships  into  which  an  individual 
enters,  the  more  fully  are  his  powers  evoked,  and  the  more 
fully  is  he  brought  to  recognize  the  possibilities  latent  in 
them.     It  is  from  seeing  noble  architecture  and  hearing 


434         SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

harmonious  music  that  the  individual  learns  to  know  to 
what  his  own  constructive  and  rhythmic  tendencies,  other- 
wise blind  and  inchoate,  may  come.  It  is  from  achieve- 
ment in  industrial,  national,  and  family  life  that  he  is 
initiated  into  perception  of  his  own  energy,  loyalty,  and 
affection. 

2.  Social  conditions  not  only  evoke  what  is  latent,  and 
bring  to  conscious  recognition  what  is  blind,  but  they 
select,  encourage,  and  confirm  certain  tendencies  at  the 
expense  of  others.  They  enable  the  individual  to  dis- 
criminate the  better  and  the  worse  among  his  tendencies 
and  achievements.  There  is  no  limit  in  the  power  of 
society  to  awaken  and  strengthen  this  habit  of  discrimi- 
nation, of  choice  after  comparison,  in  its  individual  mem- 
bers. A  small  social  group  with  fixed  habits,  a  clan,  a 
gang,  a  narrow  sect,  a  dogmatic  party,  will  restrict  the 
formation  of  critical  powers — i.e.,  of  conscientiousness  or 
moral  thoughtfulness.  But  an  individual  who  really  be- 
comes a  member  of  modern  society,  with  its  multiple  occu- 
pations, its  easy  intercourse,  its  free  mobility,  its  rich 
resources  of  art  and  science,  will  have  only  too  many 
opportunities  for  reflective  judgment  and  personal  valua- 
tion and  preference.  The  very  habits  of  individual  moral 
initiative,  of  personal  criticism  of  the  existent  order,  and 
of  private  projection  of  a  better  order,  to  which  moral 
individualists  point  as  proofs  of  the  purely  ^Hnner'*  na- 
ture of  morality,  are  themselves  effects  of  a  variable  and 
complex  social  order. 

The  Moral  Value  of  the  State. — If  then  we  take  modern 
social  life  in  its  broadest  extent,  as  including  not  only 
what  has  become  institutionalized  and  more  or  less  fossilized, 
but  also  what  is  still  growing  (forming  and  re-forming),  we 
may  justly  say  that  it  is  as  true  of  progressive  as  of  sta- 
tionary society,  that  the  moral  and  the  social  are  one. 
The  virtues  of  the  individual  in  a  progressive  society  are 
more   reflective,   more   critical,   involve   more   exercise   of 


GROWTH  OF  INDIVIDUALITY  435 

comparison  and  selection,  than  in  customary  society.  But 
they  are  just  as  socially  conditioned  in  their  origin  and 
as  socially  directed  in  their  manifestation. 

In  rudimentary  societies,  customs  furnish  the  highest 
ends  of  achievement;  they  supply  the  principles  of  social 
organization  and  combination;  and  they  form  binding 
laws  whose  breach  is  punished.  The  moral,  political,  and 
legal  are  not  differentiated.  But  village  communities  and 
city-states,  to  say  nothing  of  kingdoms  and  empires  and 
modem  national  States,  have  developed  special  organs 
and  special  regulations  for  maintaining  social  unity  and 
public  order.  Small  groups  are  usually  firmly  welded  to- 
gether and  are  exclusive.  They  have  a  narrow  but  intense 
social  code: — like  a  patriarchal  family,  a  gang,  a  social 
set,  they  are  clannish.  But  when  a  large  number  of  such 
groups  come  together  within  a  more  inclusive  social  unity, 
some  institution  grows  up  to  represent  the  interests  and 
activities  of  the  whole  as  against  the  narrow  and  centrifu- 
gal tendencies  of  the  constituent  factors.  A  society  is  then 
politically  organized;  and  a  true  public  order  with  its 
comprehensive  laws  is  brought  into  existence.  The  moral 
importance  of  the  development  of  this  public  point  of  view, 
with  its  extensive  common  purposes  and  with  a  general  will 
for  maintaining  them,  can  hardly  be  overestimated.  With- 
out such  organization,  society  and  hence  morality  would 
remain  sectional,  jealous,  suspicious,  unfraternal.  Senti- 
ments of  intense  cohesion  within  would  have  been  con- 
joined with  equally  strong  sentiments  of  indifference, 
intolerance,  and  hostility  to  those  without.  In  the  wake  of 
the  formation  of  States  have  followed  more  widely  co- 
operative activities,  more  comprehensive  and  hence  more 
reasonable  principles  of  judgment  and  outlook.  The  in- 
dividual has  been  emancipated  from  his  relative  sub- 
mergence in  the  local  and  fixed  group,  and  set  upon  his 
own  feet,  with  varied  fields  of  activity  open  to  him  in  which 
to  try  his  powers,  and  furnished  with  principles  of  judg- 


436         SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

ing  conduct  and  projecting  ideals  which  in  theory, 
at  least,  are  as  broad  as  the  possibilities  of  humanity 
itself. 


§  2.    EESPONSIBILITY    AND    FREEDOM 

The  more  comprehensive  and  diversified  the  social  order, 
the  greater  the  responsibility  and  the  freedom  of  the  individ- 
ual. His  freedom  is  the  greater,  because  the  more  numer- 
ous are  the  effective  stimuli  to  action,  and  the  more  varied 
and  the  more  certain  the  ways  in  which  he  may  fulfill 
his  powers.  His  responsibility  is  greater  because  there 
are  more  demands  for  considering  the  consequences  of  his 
acts;  and  more  agencies  for  bringing  home  to  him  the 
recognition  of  consequences  which  affect  not  merely  more 
persons  individually,  but  which  also  influence  the  more 
remote  and  hidden  social  ties. 

Liability. — Freedom  and  responsibility  have  a  relatively 
superficial  and  negative  meaning  and  a  relatively  positive 
central  meaning.  In  its  external  aspect,  responsibility 
is  liability.  An  agent  is  free  to  act;  yes,  but — .  He 
must  stand  the  consequences,  the  disagreeable  as  well  as 
the  pleasant,  the  social  as  well  as  the  physical.  He  may  do 
a  given  act,  but  if  so,  let  him  look  out.  His  act  is  a  matter 
that  concerns  others  as  well  as  himself,  and  they  will 
prove  their  concern  by  calling  him  to  account;  and  if  he 
cannot  give  a  satisfactory  and  credible  account  of  his 
intention,  subject  him  to  correction.  Each  community  and 
organization  informs  its  members  what  it  regards  as  ob- 
noxious, and  serves  notice  upon  them  that  they  have  to 
answer  if  they  offend.  The  individual  then  is  (1)  likely 
or  liable  to  have  to  explain  and  justify  his  behavior,  and 
is  (2)  liable  or  open  to  suffering  consequent  upon  inability 
to  make  his  explanation  acceptable. 

Positive  Responsibility. — In  this  way  the  individual  is 
made  aware  of  the  stake  the  community  has  in  his  behavior ; 


RESPONSIBILITY  AND  FREEDOM         437 

and  is  afforded  an  opportunity  to  take  that  interest  into 
account  in  directing  his  desires  and  making  his  plans. 
If  he  does  so,  he  is  a  responsible  person.  The  agent  who 
does  not  take  to  heart  the  concern  which  others  show 
that  they  have  in  his  conduct,  will  note  his  liability  only 
as  an  evil  to  which  he  is  exposed,  and  will  take  it  into 
consideration  only  to  see  how  to  escape  or  evade  it.  But 
one  whose  point  of  view  is  sympathetic  and  reasonable  will 
recognize  the  justice  of  the  community  interest  in  his  per- 
formances; and  will  recognize  the  value  to  him  of  the 
instruction  contained  in  its  assertions  of  its  interest.  Such 
an  one  responds,  answers,  to  the  social  demands  made; 
he  is  not  merely  called  to  answer.  He  holds  himself  re- 
sponsible for  the  consequences  of  his  acts ;  he  does  not  wait 
to  be  held  liable  by  others.  When  society  looks  for  re- 
sponsible workmen,  teachers,  doctors,  it  does  not  mean 
merely  those  whom  it  may  call  to  account;  it  can  do  that 
in  any  case.  It  wants  men  and  women  who  habitually  form 
their  purposes  after  consideration  of  the  social  conse- 
quences of  their  execution.  Dislike  of  disapprobation,  fear 
of  penalty,  play  a  part  in  generating  this  responsive 
habit;  but  fear,  operating  directly,  occasions  only  cun- 
ning or  servility.  Fused,  through  reflection,  with  other 
motives  which  prompt  to  action,  it  helps  bring  about  that 
apprehensiveness,  or  susceptibility  to  the  rights  of  others, 
which  is  the  essence  of  responsibility,  which  in  turn  is  the 
sole  ultimate  guarantee  of  social  order. 

The  Two  Senses  of  Freedom. — In  its  external  aspect, 
freedom  is  negative  and  formal.  It  signifies  freedom  from 
subjection  to  the  will  and  control  of  others;  exemption 
from  bondage;  release  from  servitude;  capacity  to  act 
without  being  exposed  to  direct  obstructions  or  interfer- 
ences from  others.  It  means  a  clear  road,  cleared  of  im- 
pediments, for  action.  It  contrasts  with  the  limitations 
of  prisoner,  slave,  and  serf,  who  have  to  carry  out  the  will 
of  others. 


438         SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

Effective  Freedom. — Exemption  from  restraint  and 
from  interference  with  overt  action  is  only  a  condition, 
though  an  absolutely  indispensable  one,  of  effective  free- 
dom. The  latter  requires  (1)  positive  control  of  the  re- 
sources necessary  to  carry  purposes  into  effect,  possession 
of  the  means  to  satisfy  desires;  and  (2)  mental  equipment 
with  the  trained  powers  of  initiative  and  reflection  requisite 
for  free  preference  and  for  circumspect  and  far-seeing  de- 
sires. The  freedom  of  an  agent  who  is  merely  released 
from  direct  external  obstructions  is  formal  and  empty. 
If  he  is  without  resources  of  personal  skill,  without  con- 
trol of  the  tools  of  achievement,  he  must  inevitably  lend 
himself  to  carrying  out  the  directions  and  ideas  of  others. 
If  he  has  not  powers  of  deliberation  and  invention,  he  must 
pick  up  his  ideas  casually  and  superficially  from  the  sug- 
gestions of  his  environment  and  appropriate  the  notions 
which  the  interests  of  some  class  insinuate  into  his  mind. 
If  he  have  not  powers  of  intelligent  self-control,  he  will 
be  in  bondage  to  appetite,  enslaved  to  routine,  imprisoned 
within  the  monotonous  round  of  an  imagery  flowing  from 
illiberal  interests,  broken  only  by  wild  forays  into  the 
illicit. 

Legal  and  Moral. — Positive  responsibility  and  freedom 
may  be  regarded  as  moral,  while  liability  and  exemption 
are  legal  and  political.  A  particular  individual  at  a  given 
time  is  possessed  of  certain  secured  resources  in  execution 
and  certain  formed  habits  of  desire  and  reflection.  In  so 
far,  he  is  positively  free.  Legally,  his  sphere  of  activity 
may  be  very  much  wider.  The  laws,  the  prevailing  body 
of  rules  which  define  existing  institutions,  would  protect 
him  in  exercising  claims  and  powers  far  beyond  those 
which  he  can  actually  put  forth.  He  is  exempt  from  inter- 
ference in  travel,  in  reading,  in  hearing  music,  in  pursuing 
scientific  research.  But  if  he  has  neither  material  means 
nor  mental  cultivation  to  enjoy  these  legal  possibilities, 
mere  exemption  means  little  or  nothing.     It  does,  however, 


RIGHTS  AND  OBLIGATIONS  439 

create  a  moral  demand  that  the  practical  limitations  which 
hem  him  in  should  be  removed;  that  practical  conditions 
should  be  afforded  which  will  enable  him  effectively  to 
take  advantage  of  the  opportunities  formally  open.  Sim- 
ilarly, at  any  given  time,  the  liabilities  to  which  an  indi- 
vidual is  actually  held  come  far  short  of  the  accountability 
to  which  the  more  conscientious  members  of  society  hold 
themselves.  The  morale  of  the  individual  is  in  advance  of 
the  formulated  morality,  or  legality,  of  the  community. 

Relation  of  Legal  to  Moral. — It  is,  however,  absurd 
to  separate  the  legal  and  the  ideal  aspects  of  freedom 
from  one  another.  It  is  only  as  men  are  held  liable  that 
they  become  responsible ;  even  the  conscientious  man,  how- 
ever much  in  some  respects  his  demands  upon  himself 
exceed  those  which  would  be  enforced  against  him  by 
others,  still  needs  in  other  respects  to  have  his  unconscious 
partiality  and  presumption  steadied  by  the  requirements 
of  others.  He  needs  to  have  his  judgment  balanced  against 
crankiness,  narrowness,  or  fanaticism,  by  reference  to  the 
sanity  of  the  common  standard  of  his  times.  It  is  only 
as  men  are  exempt  from  external  obstruction  that  they 
become  aware  of  possibilities,  and  are  awakened  to  de- 
mand and  strive  to  obtain  more  positive  freedom.  Or, 
again,  it  is  the  possession  by  the  more  favored  individuals 
in  society  of  an  effectual  freedom  to  do  and  to  enjoy  things 
with  respect  to  which  the  masses  have  only  a  formal  and 
legal  freedom,  that  arouses  a  sense  of  inequity,  and  that 
stirs  the  social  judgment  and  will  to  such  reforms  of  law, 
of  administration  and  economic  conditions  as  will  trans- 
form the  empty  freedom  of  the  less  favored  individuals 
into  constructive  realities. 

§  3.    RIGHTS    AND    OBLIGATIONS 

The  Individual  and  Social  in  Rights  and  Obligations. 
— That  which,  taken  at  large  or  in  a  lump,  is  called  free- 


440         SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

dom  breaks  up  in  detail  into  a  number  of  specific,  concrete 
abilities  to  act  in  particular  ways.  These  are  termed 
rights.  Any  right  includes  within  itself  in  intimate  unity 
the  individual  and  social  aspects  of  activity  upon  which 
we  have  been  insisting.  As  a  capacity  for  exercise  of 
power,  it  resides  in  and  proceeds  from  some  special  agent, 
some .  individual.  As  exemption  from  restraint,  a  secured 
release  from  obstruction,  it  indicates  at  least  the  per- 
mission and  sufferance  of  society,  a  tacit  social  assent  and 
confirmation ;  while  any  more  positive  and  energetic  effort 
on  the  part  of  the  community  to  guarantee  and  safeguard 
it,  indicates  an  active  acknowledgment  on  the  part  of 
societ}^  that  the  free  exercise  by  individuals  of  the  power 
in  question  is  positively  in  its  own  interest.  Thus  a 
right,  individual  in  residence,  is  social  in  origin  and  intents 
The  social  factor  in  rights  is  made  explicit  in  the  demand 
that  the  power  in  question  be  exercised  in  certain  ways.  A 
right  is  never  a  claim  to  a  wholesale,  indefinite  activity, 
but  to  a  defined  activity;  to  one  carried  on,  that  is,  under 
certain  conditions.  This  limitation  constitutes  the  obliga- 
tory phases  of  every  right.  The  individual  is  free;  yes, 
that  is  his  right.  But  he  is  free  to  act  only  according  to 
certain  regular  and  established  conditions.  That  is  the 
obligation  imposed  upon  him.  He  has  a  right  to  use 
public  roads,  but  he  is  obliged  to  turn  in  a  certain  way. 
He  has  a  right  to  use  his  property,  but  he  is  obliged  to 
pay  taxes,  to  pay  debts,  not  to  harm  others  in  its  use,  and 
so  on. 

Correspondence  of  Rights  and  Obligations. — Rights 
and  obligations  are  thus  strictly  correlative.  This  is  true 
both  in  their  external  employment  and  in  their  intrinsic 
natures.  Externally  the  individual  is  under  obligation  to 
use  his  right  in  a  way  which  does  not  interfere  with  the 
rights  of  others.  He  is  free  to  drive  on  the  public  high- 
ways, but  not  to  exceed  a  certain  speed,  and  on  condition 
that  be  turns  to  right  or  left  as  the  public  order  requires. 


RIGHTS  AND  OBLIGATIONS  441 

He  is  entitled  to  the  land  which  he  has  bought,  but  this 
possession  is  subject  to  conditions  of  public  registration 
and  taxation.  He  may  use  his  property,  but  not  so  that 
it  menaces  others  or  becomes  a  nuisance.  Absolute  rights, 
if  we  mean  by  absolute  those  not  relative  to  any  social 
order  and  hence  exempt  from  any  social  restriction,  there 
are  none.  But  rights  correspond  even  more  intrinsically 
to  obligations.  The  right  is  itself  a  social  outcome:  it 
is  the  individual's  in  so  far  as  he  is  himself  a  social  mem- 
ber not  merely  physically,  but  in  his  habits  of  thought 
and  feeling.  He  is  under  obligation  to  use  his  rights  in 
social  ways.  The  more  we  emphasize  the  free  right  of 
an  individual  to  his  property,  the  more  we  emphasize  what 
society  has  done  for  him :  the  avenues  it  has  opened  to  him 
for  acquiring;  the  safeguards  it  has  put  about  him  for 
keeping;  the  wealth  achieved  by  others  which  he  may  ac- 
quire by  exchanges  themselves  socially  buttressed.  So 
far  as  an  individual's  own  merits  are  concerned  these 
opportunities  and  protections  are  "unearned  increments," 
no  matter  what  credit  he  may  deserve  for  initiative  and 
industry  and  foresight  in  using  them.  The  only  funda- 
mental anarchy  is  that  which  regards  rights  as  private 
monopolies,  ignoring  their  social  origin  and  intent. 

Classes  of  Rights  and  Obligations. — ^We  may  discuss 
freedom  and  responsibility  with  respect  to  the  social  or- 
ganization which  secures  and  enforces  them;  or  from  the 
standpoint  of  the  individual  who  exercises  and  acknowl- 
edges them.  From  the  latter  standpoint,  rights  are  con- 
veniently treated  as  physical  and  mental:  not  that  the 
physical  and  mental  can  be  separated,  but  that  emphasis 
may  fall  primarily  on  control  of  the  conditions  required 
to  execute  ideas  and  intentions,  or  upon  the  control  of  the 
conditions  involved  in  their  personal  formation  and  choice. 
From  the  standpoint  of  the  public  order,  rights  and  duties 
are  civil  and  political.  We  shall  consider  them  in  the  next 
chapter   in   connection   with   the   organization   of   society 


442         SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

in  the  State.  Here  we  consider  rights  as  inhering  in  an 
individual  in  virtue  of  his  membership  in  society. 

I.  Physical  Rights. — These  are  the  rights  to  the  free 
unharmed  possession  of  the  body  (the  rights  to  life  and 
limb),  exemption  from  homicidal  attack,  from  assault  and 
battery,  and  from  conditions  that  threaten  health  in  more 
obscure  ways ;  and  positively,  the  right  to  free  movement 
of  the  body,  to  use  its  members  for  any  legitimate  pur- 
pose, and  the  right  to  unhindered  locomotion.  Without 
the  exemption,  there  is  no  security  in  life,  no  assurance; 
only  a  life  of  constant  fear  and  uncertainty,  of  loss  of 
limb,  of  injury  from  others,  and  of  death.  Without  some 
positive  assurance,  there  is  no  chance  of  carrying  ideas 
into  effect.  Even  if  sound  and  healthy  and  extremely  pro- 
tected, a  man  lives  a  slave  or  prisoner.  Right  to  the 
control  and  use  of  physical  conditions  of  life  takes  effect 
then  in  property  rights,  command  of  the  natural  tools  and 
materials  which  are  requisite  to  the  maintenance  of  the 
body  in  a  due  state  of  health  and  to  an  effective  and  com- 
petent use  of  the  person's  powers.  These  physical  rights 
to  life,  limb,  and  property  are  so  basic  to  all  achievement 
and  capability  that  they  have  frequentl}^  been  termed 
"natural  rights."  They  are  so  fundamental  to  the  exist- 
ence of  personality  that  their  insecurity  or  infringement 
is  a  direct  menace  to  the  social  welfare.  The  struggle 
for  human  liberty  and  human  responsibility  has  accord- 
ingly been  more  acute  at  this  than  at  any  other  point. 
Roughly  speaking,  the  history  of  personal  liberty  is  the 
history  of  the  efforts  which  have  safeguarded  the  security 
of  life  and  property  and  which  have  emancipated  bodily 
movement  from  subjection  to  the  will  of  others. 

Unsolved  Problems:  War  and  Punishment. — While 
history  marks  great  advance,  especially  in  the  last  four 
or  five  centuries,  as  to  the  negative  aspect  of  freedom  or 
release  from  direct  and  overt  tyranny,  much  remains  un- 
done on  the  positive   side.      It  is   at   this  point   of   free 


RIGHTS  AND  OBLIGATIONS  443 

physical  control  that  all  conflicts  of  rights  concentrate 
themselves.  While  the  Hmitation  by  war  of  the  right 
to  life  may  be  cited  as  evidence  for  the  fact  that  even  this 
right  is  not  absolute  but  is  socially  conditioned,  yet  that 
kind  of  correspondence  between  individual  activity  and  so- 
cial well-being  which  exacts  exposure  to  destruction  as  its 
measure,  is  too  suggestive  of  the  tribal  morality  in  which 
the  savage  shows  his  social  nature  by  participation  in 
a  blood  feud,  to  be  satisfactory.  Social  organization  is 
clearly  defective  when  its  constituent  portions  are  so 
set  at  odds  with  one  another  as  to  demand  from  individuals 
their  death  as  their  best  service  to  the  community.  While 
one  may  cite  capital  punishment  to  enforce,  as  if  in  large 
type,  the  fact  that  the  individual  holds  even  his  right  to 
life  subject  to  the  social  welfare,  the  moral  works  the  other 
way  to  underline  the  failure  of  society  to  socialize  its 
members,  and  its  tendency  to  put  undesirable  results  out 
of  sight  and  mind  rather  than  to  face  responsibility  for 
causes.  The  same  limitation  is  seen  in  methods  of  im- 
prisonment, which,  while  supposed  to  be  protective  rather 
than  vindictive,  recognize  only  in  a  few  and  sporadic  cases 
that  the  sole  sure  protection  of  society  is  through  educa- 
tion and  correction  of  individual  character,  not  by  mere 
physical  isolation  under  harsh  conditions. 

Security  of  Life. — In  civilized  countries  the  blood  feud, 
infanticide,  putting  to  death  the  economically  useless  and 
the  aged,  have  been  abolished.  Legalized  slavery,  serfdom, 
the  subjection  of  the  rights  of  wife  and  child  to  the  will 
of  husband  and  father,  have  been  done  away  with.  But 
many  modern  industries  are  conducted  with  more  refer- 
ence to  financial  gain  than  to  life,  and  the  annual  roll  of 
killed,  injured,  and  diseased  in  factory  and  railway  prac- 
tically equals  the  list  of  dead  and  wounded  in  a  modern 
war.^    Most  of  these  accidents  are  preventable.     The  will- 

*  It  is  stated,  upon  good  authority,  that  a  street  railway  system 
in  a  large  American  city  declined  to  adopt  an  improved  fender,  which 


444         SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

ingness  of  parents  on  one  side  and  of  employers  on  the 
other,  conjoined  with  the  indifference  of  the  general  public, 
makes  child-labor  an  effective  substitute  for  exposure  of 
children  and  other  methods  of  infanticide  practiced  by 
savage  tribes.  Agitation  for  old-age  pensions  shows  that 
faithful  service  to  society  for  a  lifetime  is  still  inadequate 
to  secure  a  prosperous  old  age. 

Charity  and  Poverty. — Society  provides  assistance  and 
remedial  measures,  poorhouses,  asylums,  hospitals.  The 
exceedingly  poor  are  a  public  charge,  supported  by  taxes 
as  well  as  by  alms.  Individuals  are  not  supposed  to  die 
from  starvation  nor  to  suffer  without  any  relief  or  assist- 
ance from  physical  defects  and  disease.  So  far,  there  is 
growth  in  positive  provision  for  the  right  to  live.  But  the 
very  necessity  for  such  extensive  remedial  measures  shows 
serious  defects  farther  back.  It  raises  the  question  of  so- 
cial reponsibility  for  the  causes  of  such  wholesale  poverty 
and  widespread  misery.  Taken  in  conjunction  with  the 
idleness  and  display  of  the  congested  rich,  it  raises  the 
question  how  far  we  are  advanced  beyond  barbarism  in 
making  organic  provision  for  an  effective,  as  distinct 
from  formal,  right  to  life  and  movement.  It  is  hard  to 
say  whether  the  heavier  indictment  lies  in  the  fact  that 
so  many  shirk  their  share  of  the  necessary  social  labor 
and  toil,  or  in  the  fact  that  so  many  who  are  willing  to 
work  are  unable  to  do  so,  without  meeting  recurrent  crises 
of  unemployment,  and  except  under  conditions  of  hours, 
hygiene,  compensation,  and  home  conditions  which  reduce 
to  a  low  level  the  positive  rights  of  life.  The  social  order 
protects  the  property  of  those  who  have  it ;  but,  although 
historic  conditions  have  put  the  control  of  the  machinery 
of  production  in  the  hands  of  a  comparatively  few  per- 

made  it  practically  impossible  to  kill  persons,  because  the  annual  cost 
would  be  $5,000  more  than  the  existing  expense  for  damages.  This 
same  system  declined  to  adopt  improved  brakes  which  would  reduce 
accidents  to  life  and  limb;  and  it  was  discovered  that  one  of  its 
directors  was  largely  interested  in  the  manufacture  of  the  old  brakes. 


RIGHTS  AND  OBLIGATIONS  445 

sons,  society  takes  little  heed  to  see  that  great  masses  of 
men  get  even  that  little  property  which  is  requisite  to 
secure  assured,  permanent,  and  properly  stimulating  con- 
ditions of  life.  Until  there  is  secured  to  and  imposed  upon 
all  members  of  society  the  right  and  the  duty  of  work  in 
socially  serviceable  occupations,  with  due  return  in  social 
goods,  rights  to  life  and  free  movement  will  hardly  ad- 
vance much  beyond  their  present  largely  nominal  state. 

II.  Rights  to  Mental  Activity. — These  rights  of  course 
are  closely  bound  up  with  rights  to  physical  well-being 
and  activity.  The  latter  would  have  no  meaning  were  it 
not  that  they  subserve  purposes  and  affections;  while  the 
life  of  mind  is  torpid  or  remote,  dull  or  abstract,  save  as 
it  gets  impact  in  physical  conditions  and  directs  them. 
Those  who  hold  that  the  limitations  of  physical  conditions 
have  no  moral  signification,  and  that  their  improvement 
brings  at  most  an  increase  of  more  or  less  materialistic 
comfort,  not  a  moral  advance,  fail  to  note  that  the  devel- 
opment of  concrete  purposes  and  desires  is  dependent  upon 
so-called  outward  conditions.  These  conditions  affect  the 
execution  of  purposes  and  wants ;  and  this  influence  reacts 
to  determine  the  further  arrest  or  growth  of  needs  and 
resolutions.  The  sharp  and  unjustifiable  antithesis  of 
spiritual  and  material  in  the  current  conception  of  moral 
action  leads  many  well-intentioned  people  to  be  callous  and 
indifferent  to  the  moral  issues  involved  in  physical  and  eco- 
nomic progress.  Long  hours  of  excessive  physical  labor, 
joined  with  unwholesome  conditions  of  residence  and  work, 
restrict  the  growth  of  mental  activity,  while  idleness  and 
excess  of  physical  possession  and  control  pervert  mind,  as 
surely  as  these  causes  modify  the  outer  and  overt  acts. 

Freedom  of  Thought  and  Affection. — The  fundamental 
forms  of  the  right  to  mental  life  are  liberty  of  judgment 
and  sympathy.  The  struggle  for  spiritual  liberty  has  been 
as  prolonged  and  arduous  as  that  for  physical  freedom. 
Distrust  of  intelligence  and  of  love  as  factors  in  concrete 


446         SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

individuals  has  been  strong  even  in  those  who  have  pro- 
claimed most  vigorously  their  devotion  to  them  as  abstract 
principles.  Disbelief  in  the  integrity  of  mind,  assertion 
that  the  divine  principles  of  thought  and  love  are  perverted 
and  corrupt  in  the  individual,  have  kept  spiritual  author- 
ity and  prestige  in  the  hands  of  the  few,  just  as  other 
causes  have  made  material  possessions  the  monopoly  of 
a  small  class.  The  resulting  restriction  of  knowledge  and 
of  the  tools  of  inquiry  Have  kept  the  masses  where  their 
blindness  and  dullness  might  be  employed  as  further  evi- 
dence of  their  natural  unfitness  for  personal  illumination 
by  the  light  of  truth  and  for  free  direction  of  the  energy 
of  moral  warmth.^  Gradually,  however,  free  speech,  free- 
dom of  communication  and  intercourse,  of  public  assem- 
blies, liberty  of  the  press  and  circulation  of  ideas,  freedom 
of  rehgious  and  intellectual  conviction  (commonly  called 
freedom  of  conscience),  of  worship,  and  to  some  extent  the 
right  to  education,  to  spiritual  nurture,  have  been  achieved. 
In  the  degree  the  individual  has  won  these  liberties,  the 
social  order  has  obtained  its  chief  safeguard  against  ex- 
plosive change  and  intermittent  blind  action  and  reaction, 
and  has  got  hold  of  the  method  of  graduated  and  steady 
reconstruction.  Looked  at  as  a  mere  expedient,  liberty 
of  thought  and  expression  is  the  most  successful  device 
ever  hit  upon  for  reconciling  tranquillity  with  progress, 
so  that  peace  is  not  sacrificed  to  reform  nor  improvement 
to  stagnant  conservatism.^ 

Right  and  Duty  of  Education. — It  is  through  educa- 
tion in  its  broadest  sense  that  the  right  of  thought  and 

^  Said  Emerson:  "If  a  man  is  sick,  is  unable,  is  mean-spirited 
and  odious,  it  is  because  there  is  so  much  of  his  nature  which  is  unlaw- 
fully withholden  from  him." 

^  Recent  suppression  by  the  police  in  the  larger  American  cities 
of  public  meetings  called  to  discuss  unemployment  or  other  matters 
deemed  by  some  dangerous  to  vested  interests,  shows  that  the  value 
of  free  speech  as  a  "safety-valve"  has  not  even  yet  been  thoroughly 
learned.  It  also  shows  how  the  victories  of  freedom  in  the  past 
have  to  be  fought  and  won  over  again  under  new  conditions,  if  they 
are  to  be  kept  alive. 


RIGHTS  AND  OBLIGATIONS  447 

sympathy  become  effective.  The  final  value  of  all  insti- 
tutions is  their  educational  influence;  they  are  measured 
morally  by  the  occasions  they  afford  and  the  guidance 
they  supply  for  the  exercise  of  foresight,  judgment, 
seriousness  of  consideration,  and  depth  of  regard.  The 
family,  the  school,  the  church,  art,  especially  (to-day) 
literature,  nurture  the  affections  and  imagination,  while 
schools  impart  information  and  inculcate  skill  in  various 
forms  of  intellectual  technique.  In  the  last  one  hundred 
years,  the  right  of  each  individual  to  spiritual  self- 
development  and  self-possession,  and  the  interest  of  society 
as  a  whole  in  seeing  that  each  of  its  members  has  an 
opportunity  for  education,  have  been  recognized  in  pub- 
licly maintained  schools  with  their  ladder  from  kinder- 
garten through  the  college  to  the  engineering  and 
professional  school.  Men  and  women  have  had  put  at 
their  disposal  the  materials  and  tools  of  judgment;  have 
had  opened  to  them  the  wide  avenues  of  science,  history, 
and  art  that  lead  into  the  larger  world's  culture.  To  some 
extent  negative  exemption  from  arbitrary  restriction 
upon  belief  and  thought  has  been  developed  into  positive 
capacities  of  intelligence  and  sentiment. 

Restrictions  from  Inadequate  Economic  Conditions. — 
Freedom  of  thought  in  a  developed  constructive  form  is, 
however,  next  to  impossible  for  the  masses  of  men  so  long 
as  their  economic  conditions  are  precarious,  and  their 
main  problem  is  to  keep  the  wolf  from  their  doors.  Lack 
of  time,  hardening  of  susceptibility,  blind  preoccupation 
with  the  machinery  of  highly  specialized  industries,  the 
combined  apathy  and  worry  consequent  upon  a  life  main- 
tained just  above  the  level  of  subsistence,  are  unfavorable 
to  intellectual  and  emotional  culture.  Intellectual  coward- 
ice, due  to  apathy,  laziness,  and  vague  apprehension,  takes 
the  place  of  despotism  as  a  limitation  upon  freedom  of 
thought  and  speech.  Uncertainty  as  to  security  of  posi- 
tion, the  welfare  of  a  dependent  family,  close  men's  mouths 


448  SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

from  expressing  their  honest  convictions,  and  blind  their 
minds  to  clear  perception  of  evil  conditions.  The  instru- 
mentalities of  culture — churches,  newspapers,  universities, 
theatres — themselves  have  economic  necessities  which  tend 
to  make  them  dependent  upon  those  who  can  best  supply 
their  needs.  The  congestion  of  poverty  on  one  side  and 
of  "culture"  on  the  other  is  so  great  that,  in  the  words 
of  a  distinguished  economist,  we  are  still  questioning 
"whether  it  is  really  impossible  that  all  should  start  in 
the  world  with  a  fair  chance  of  leading  a  cultured  life 
free  from  the  pains  of  poverty  and  the  stagnating  influ- 
ences of  a  life  of  excessive  mechanical  toil."  ^  We  provide 
free  schools  and  pass  compulsory  education  acts,  but  ac- 
tively and  passively  we  encourage  conditions  which  limit 
the  mass  of  children  to  the  bare  rudiments  of  spiritual 
nurture. 

Restriction  of  Educational  Influences. — Spiritual  re- 
sources are  practically  as  much  the  possession  of  a  special 
class,  in  spite  of  educational  advance,  as  are  material 
resources.  This  fact  reacts  upon  the  chief  educative 
agencies — science,  art,  and  religion.  Knowledge  in  its 
ideas,  language,  and  appeals  is  forced  into  corners;  it  is 
overspecialized,  technical,  and  esoteric  because  of  its  iso- 
lation. Its  lack  of  intimate  connection  with  social  prac- 
tice leads  to  an  intense  and  elaborate  over-training  which 
increases  its  own  remoteness.  Only  when  science  and  phi- 
losophy are  one  with  literature,  the  art  of  successful  com- 
munication and  vivid  intercourse,  are  they  liberal  in  eff^ect ; 
and  this  imphes  a  society  which  is  already  intellectually 
and  emotionally  nurtured  and  alive.  Art  itself,  the  em- 
bodiment of  ideas  in  forms  which  are  socially  contagious, 
becomes  what  it  is  so  largely,  a  development  of  technical 
skill,  and  a  badge  of  class  differences.  Religious  emotion, 
the  quickening  of  ideas  and  aff^ections  by  recognition  of 

*  Marshall,  Principles  of  Economics, 


RIGHTS  AND  OBLIGATIONS  449 

their  inexhaustible  signification,  is  segregated  into  special 
cults,  particular  days,  and  peculiar  exercises,  and  the 
common  life  is  left  relatively  hard  and  barren. 

In  short,  the  limitations  upon  freedom  both  of  the  physi- 
cal conditions  and  the  mental  values  of  life  are  at  bottom 
expressions  of  one  and  the  same  divorce  of  theory  and 
practice, — which  makes  theory  remote,  sterile,  and  techni- 
cal, while  practice  remains  narrow,  harsh,  and  also  illiberal. 
Yet  there  is  more  cause  for  hope  in  that  so  much  has  been 
accomplished,  than  for  despondency  because  mental  power 
and  service  are  still  so  limited  and  undeveloped.  The  in- 
termixture and  interaction  of  classes  and  nations  are  very 
recent.  Hence  the  opportunities  for  an  effective  circula- 
tion of  sympathetic  ideas  and  of  reasonable  emotions  have 
only  newly  come  into  existence.  Education  as  a  public 
interest  and  care,  applicable  to  all  individuals,  is  hardly 
more  than  a  century  old;  while  a  conception  of  the  rich- 
ness and  complexity  of  the  ways  in  which  it  should 
touch  any  one  individual  is  hardly  half  a  century  old. 
As  society  takes  its  educative  functions  more  seriously  and 
comprehensively  into  account,  there  is  every  promise  of 
more  rapid  progress  in  the  future  than  in  the  past.  For 
education  is  most  effective  when  dealing  with  the  immature, 
those  who  have  not  yet  acquired  the  hard  and  fixed  direct- 
ing forms  of  adult  life;  while,  in  order  to  be  effectively 
employed,  it  must  select  and  propagate  that  which  is 
common  and  hence  typical  in  the  social  values  that  form 
its  resources,  leaving  the  eccentric,  the  partial,  and  exclu- 
sive gradually  to  dwindle.  Upon  some  generous  souls  of 
the  eighteenth  century  there  dawned  the  idea  that  the  cause 
of  the  indefinite  improvement  of  humanity  and  the  cause 
of  the  little  child  are  inseparably  bound  together. 

LITERATURE 

Kant,  Philosophy  of  Law,  1796   (trans,  by  Hastie,  1887);  Fichte, 
The  Science  of  Bights,  1798   (trans,  by  Kroeger,  1869);  Rousseau^ 


450         SOCIETY  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL 

Social  Contract,  1762  (trans,  by  Tozer,  1893)  ;  Bonar,  Philosophy  and 
Political  Economy,  1893;  Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  ch.  iii.  (on  So- 
cial Motives);  Caird,  Social  Philosophy  of  Comte,  1885;  Sidgwick, 
Practical  Ethics,  1898,  Essay  on  Public  Morality;  Sidgwick,  Elements 
of  Politics,  1891,  ch.  iv.  on  Individualism,  vi.  on  Contract,  x.  on 
Socialistic  Interferences,  xiii.  on  Law  and  Morality;  Maine,  Ancient 
Law,  1861,  Pollock's  ed.,  1906,  chs.  iii.  and  iv.  on  law  of  nature  and 
equity;  Stephen,  Essays  in  Political  and  Moral  Philosophy,  1888; 
Rickaby,  Political  and  Moral  Essays,  1902;  Hobhouse,  Morals  in 
Evolution,  Vol.  II.,  ch.  vii.  (on  the  general  relation  of  the  social 
and  the  moral).  On  the  development  of  rights  to  life,  limb,  and  free- 
dom of  movement,  see  Westermarck,  chs.  xiv.-xxii,,  and  Sumner, 
Folkways,  chs.  vi.,  vii.,  and  viii. ;  Hobhouse,  Vol.  I.,  ch.  vii.  (on. 
slavery) ;  Spencer,  Ethics,  Vol.  II.,  Part  IV.  For  charity,  see  Loch 
on  Charity  and  Charities,  Encyclopedia  Britannica;  Uhlhorn,  Chris- 
tian Charity  in  the  Ancient  Church;  L'AUemand,  Histoire  de  la 
Charit4;  NichoU,  History  of  the  English  Poor  Law,  2  vols.,  1898. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  THE  POLITICAL  STATE 

We  have  been  considering  responsible  freedom  as  it 
centers  in  and  affects  individuals  in  their  distinctive 
capacities.  It  implies  a  public  order  which  guarantees, 
defines,  and  enforces  rights  and  obligations.  This  public 
order  has  a  twofold  relation  to  rights  and  duties:  (1) 
As  the  social  counterpart  of  their  exercise  by  individuals, 
it  constitutes  Civil  Society.  It  represents  those  forms  of 
associated  life  which  are  orderly  and  authorized,  because 
constituted  by  individuals  in  the  exercise  of  their  rights, 
together  with  those  special  forms  which  protect  and  insure 
them.  Families,  clubs,  guilds,  unions,  corporations  come 
under  the  first  head ;  courts  and  civil  administrative  bodies, 
like  public  railway  and  insurance  commissions,  etc.,  come 
under  the  second.  (2)  The  public  order  also  fixes  the 
fundamental  terms  and  conditions  on  which  at  any  given 
time  rights  are  exercised  and  remedies  secured;  it  is  or- 
ganized for  the  purpose  of  defining  the  basic  methods  of 
exercising  the  activities  of  its  constituent  elements,  indi- 
vidual and  corporate.     In  this  aspect  it  is  the  State. 

§  1.    CIVIL    RIGHTS    AND    OBLIGATIONS 

Every  act  brings  the  agent  who  performs  it  into  asso- 
ciation with  others,  whether  he  so  intends  or  not.  His  act 
takes  effect  in  an  organized  world  of  action ;  in  social 
arrangement  and  institutions.  So  far  as  such  combina- 
tions of  individuals  are  recurrent  or  stable,  their  nature 
and  operations   are  definitely   formulated   and  definitely 

451 


452     CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

enforceable.  Partnerships,  clubs,  corporations,  guilds, 
families  are  such  stable  unions,  with  their  definite  spheres 
of  action.  Buying  and  selling,  teaching  and  learning,  pro- 
ducing and  consuming,  are  recurrent  activities  whose  legit- 
imate methods  get  prescribed.  These  specific  provinces  and 
methods  of  action  are  defined  in  Civil  Rights.  They  express 
the  guaranteed  and  regular  ways  in  which  an  individual, 
through  action,  voluntarily  enters  into  association  or  com- 
bination with  others  for  the  sake  of  a  common  end.  They 
diff^er  from  political  rights  and  obligations  in  that  the  latter 
concern  modes  of  social  organization  which  are  so  fundamen- 
tal that  they  are  not  left  to  the  voluntary  choice  and  pur- 
pose of  an  individual.  As  a  social  being,  he  must  have  po- 
litical relationships,  must  be  subject  to  law,  pay  taxes,  etc. 
I.  Contract  Rights. — Modes  of  association  are  so  nu- 
merous and  variable  that  we  can  only  select  those  aspects 
of  civil  rights  which  are  morally  most  significant.  We 
shall  discriminate  them  according  as  they  have  to  do  (1) 
with  the  more  temporary  and  casual  combinations  of  indi- 
viduals, for  limited  and  explicit  purposes;  and  (2)  with 
more  permanent,  inclusive,  and  hence  less  definable  ends; 
and  (3)  with  the  special  institutions  which  exist  for  guar- 
anteeing individuals  the  enjoyment  of  their  rights  and 
providing  remedies  if  these  are  infringed  upon.  (1) 
Contract  rights.  Rights  of  the  first  type  are  rights  re- 
sulting from  express  or  implied  agreements  of  certain 
agents  to  do  or  refrain  from  doing  specific  acts,  involving 
exchange  of  services  or  goods  to  the  mutual  benefit  of  both 
parties  in  the  transaction.  Every  bargain  entered  into, 
every  loaf  of  bread  one  buys  or  paper  of  pins  one  sells, 
involves  an  implied  and  explicit  contract.  A  genuinely 
free  agreement  or  contract  means  (i.)  that  each  party 
to  the  transaction  secures  the  benefit  he  wants;  (ii.) 
that  the  two  parties  are  brought  into  cooperative  or 
mutually  helpful  relations;  and  that  (iii.)  the  vast,  vague, 
complex  business  of  conducting  social  life  is  broken  up 


CIVIL  RIGHTS  AND  OBLIGATIONS        453 

into  a  multitude  of  specific  acts  to  be  performed  and  of 
specific  goods  to  be  delivered,  at  definite  times  and  definite 
places.  Hence  it  is  hardly  surprising  that  one  school  of 
social  moralists  has  found  in  the  conception  of  free  con- 
tract its  social  ideal.  Every  individual  concerned  assumes 
obligations  which  it  is  to  his  interest  to  perform  so  that 
the  performance  is  voluntary,  not  coerced;  while,  at  the 
same  time,  some  other  person  is  engaged  to  serve  him  in 
some  way.  The  limitations  of  the  contract  idea  will  con- 
cern us  later. 

2.  The  Permanent  Voluntary  Associations. — Part- 
nerships, limited  liability  corporations,  guilds,  trades 
unions,  churches,  schools,  clubs,  are  more  permanent  and 
comprehensive  associations,  involving  more  far-reaching 
rights  and  obligations.  Societies  organized  for  conversa- 
tion and  sociability  or  conviviality,  "corporations  not  for 
profit,"  but  for  mutual  enjoyment  or  for  benevolent  ends, 
come  under  the  same  head.  Most  significant  are  the  asso- 
ciations which,  while  entered  only  voluntarily  and  having 
therefore  a  basis  in  contract,  are  for  generic  ends.  Thus 
they  are  permanent,  and  cover  much  more  than  can  be 
written  in  the  contract.  Marriage,  in  modern  society,  is 
entered  into  by  contract ;  but  married  life  is  not  narrowed 
to  the  exchange  of  specific  services  at  specific  times.  It  is 
a  union  for  mutual  economic  and  spiritual  goods  which 
are  coextensive  with  all  the  interests  of  the  parties.  In 
its  connection  with  the  generation  and  rearing  of  chil- 
dren, it  is  a  fundamental  means  of  guarding  all  social 
interests  and  of  directing  their  progress.  Schools,  col- 
leges, churches,  federations  of  labor,  organizations  of 
employers,  and  of  both  together,  represent  other  forms  of 
permanent  voluntary  organizations  which  may  have  the 
most  far-reaching  influence  both  upon  those  directly  con- 
cerned and  upon  society  at  large. 

3.  Right  to  Use  of  Courts. — All  civil  rights  get  their 
final  application  and  test  in  the  right  to  have  conflicting 


454    CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

rights  defined  and  infringed  rights  remedied  by  appeal 
to  a  pubhc  authority  having  general  and  final  jurisdic- 
tion. "The  right  to  sue  and  be  sued"  may  seem  too  legal 
and  external  a  matter  to  be  worthy  of  much  note  in  an 
ethical  treatise;  but  it  represents  the  culmination  of  an 
age-long  experimentation  with  the  problem  of  reconciling 
individual  freedom  and  public  order.  No  civil  right  is 
effective  unless  it  carries  with  it  a  statement  of  a  method 
of  enforcement  and,  if  necessary,  of  redress  and  remedy. 
Otherwise  it  is  a  mere  name.  Moreover,  conflicts  of  civil 
rights  are  bound  to  occur  even  when  there  is  good  faith 
on  the  part  of  all  concej:ned,  just  because  new  situations 
arise.  Unless  there  is  a  way  of  defining  the  respective 
rights  of  each  party  in  the  new  situation,  each  will  arbi- 
trarily and  yet  in  good  faith  insist  upon  asserting  his 
rights  on  the  old  basis :  private  war  results.  A  new  order 
is  not  achieved  and  the  one  already  attained  is  threatened 
or  disrupted.  The  value  of  rights  to  the  use  of  courts 
resides,  then,  to  a  comparatively  small  degree,  in  the  specific 
cases  of  deliberate  wrong  which  are  settled.  What  is  more 
important  is  that  men  get  instruction  as  to  the  proper  scope 
and  limits  of  their  activities,  through  the  provision  of  an 
effective  mechanism  for  amicable  settlement  of  disputes 
in  those  cases  in  which  rights  are  vague  and  ambiguous 
because  the  situations  are  novel. 

Classes  of  Wrongs  and  Remedies. — Infringements 
upon  rights,  such  as  murder,  theft,  arson,  forgery,  imply 
a  character  which  is  distinctly  anti-social  in  its  bent.  The 
wrong,  although  done  to  one,  is  an  expression  of  a  disposi- 
tion which  is  dangerous  to  all.  Such  a  wrong  is  a  crime; 
it  is  a  matter  for  the  direct  jurisdiction  of  public  author- 
ity. It  is  the  business  of  all  to  cooperate  in  giving  evi- 
dence, and  it  may  render  one  a  criminal  accomplice  to 
conceal  or  suppress  evidence,  just  as  it  is  "compounding 
a  felony"  for  the  wronged  individual  to  settle  the  wrong 
done  him  by  arranging  privately  for  compensation.     The 


CIVIL  RIGHTS  AND  OBLIGATIONS        455 

penalty  in  such  cases  is  generally  personal;  imprisonment 
or  at  least  a  heavy  fine.  The  violation  may,  however,  be 
of  the  nature  of  a  wrong  or  "tort,"  rather  than  of  a  crime ; 
it  may  indicate  a  disposition  indifferent  to  social  interests 
or  neglectful  of  them  rather  than  one  actively  hostile  to 
them.  Such  acts  as  libels,  trespasses  upon  the  land  of 
another,  are  illustrations.  In  such  cases,  the  machinery  of 
justice  is  put  in  motion  by  the  injured  individual,  not 
by  the  commonwealth.  This  does  not  mean  that  society 
as  a  whole  has  no  interest  in  the  matter;  but  that  under 
certain  circumstances  encouraging  individuals  to  look  out 
for  their  own  rights  and  wrongs  is  socially  more  important 
than  getting  certain  wrongs  remedied  irrespective  of 
whether  men  stand  up  for  their  own  rights  or  not.  Then 
again,  there  are  civil  disputes  which  indicate  neither  a 
criminal  nor  a  harmful  disposition,  but  rather  uncer- 
tainty as  to  what  the  law  really  is,  leading  to  disputes 
about  rights — interpretations  of  a  contract,  express  or 
implied.  Here  the  interest  of  society  is  to  provide  a 
method  of  settlement  which  will  hinder  the  growth  of  ill 
will  and  private  retaliation;  and  which  also  will  provide 
precedents  and  principles  that  will  lessen  uncertainty  and 
conflict  in  like  cases  in  the  future. 

Peace  and  tranquillity  are  not  merely  the  absence  of 
open  friction  and  disorder.  They  mean  specific,  easily- 
known,  and  generally  recognized  principles  which  deter- 
mine the  province  and  limits  of  the  legitimate  activity 
of  every  person.  Publicity,  standards,  rules  of  procedure, 
remedies  acknowledged  in  common,  are  their  essence.  Res 
pii.blica,  the  common  concern,  remains  vague  and  latent 
till  defined  by  impartial,  disinterested  social  organs.  Then 
it  is  expressed  in  regular  and  guaranteed  modes  of  activ- 
ity. In  the  pregnant  phrase  of  Aristotle,  the  administra- 
tion of  justice  is  also  its  determination:  that  is,  its 
discovery  and  promulgation. 


456     CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 


§  2.    DEVELOPMENT    OF    CIVIL    BIGHTS 

Contrast  of  Primitive  with  Present  Justice The  sig- 
nificance of  the  accompHshments  and  the  defects  of  the 
present  administration  of  law  may  be  brought  out  by  a 
sketch  of  its  contrast  with  primitive  methods.  In  savage 
and  barbarian  society,  on  account  of  the  sohdarity  of  the 
kin-group,  any  member  of  the  group  is  hkely  to  be  at- 
tacked for  the  offense  of  any  other  (see  p.  2^).  He  may 
not  have  participated  in  the  act,  or  have  had  comphcity 
in  planning  it.  His  guilt  is  that  the  same  blood  runs 
in  his  veins. ^  The  punitive  attack,  moreover,  is  made 
directly  and  promiscuously  by  the  injured  man  and  by 
his  blood-relatives ;  it  is  made  in  the  heat  of  passion  or  in 
the  vengeance  of  stealth  as  custom  may  decree.  Says 
Hearn,  the  state  "did  not  interfere  in  the  private  quar- 
rels of  its  citizens.  Every  man  took  care  of  his  own 
property  and  his  own  household,  and  every  hand  guarded 
its  own  head.  If  any  injury  were  done  to  any  person, 
he  retaliated,  or  made  reprisals,  or  otherwise  sought 
redress,  as  custom  prescribed."  ^  The  reprisal  may  itself 
have  called  for  another,  and  the  blood-feud  was  on.  In 
any  case,  the  state  of  affairs  was  one  literally,  not  meta- 
phorically, described  as  "private  war." 

Changes  Now  Effected. — This  state  of  affairs  has  been 
superseded  by  one  in  which  a  third,  a  public  and  impartial 
authority  (1)  takes  cognizance  of  offenses  against  an- 
other individual  as  offenses  against  the  commonwealth; 
(2)  apprehends  the  supposed  offender;  (3)  deteraiines 
and  applies  an  objective  standard  of  judgment,  the  same 

*  A  traveler  tells  of  overhearing  children  in  Australia,  when  one 
of  their  kin  had  injured  some  one  in  another  clan,  discuss  whether 
or  no  they  came  within  the  degree  of  nearness  of  relationship  which 
made  them  liable  to  suffer. 

^  Hearn,  The  Aryan  Household,  p.  431.  Hearn  is  speaking,  more- 
over, of  a  later  and  more  advanced  condition  of  society,  one  lying 
well  within  "civilization." 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  CIVIL  RIGHTS        457 

for  all,  the  law;  (4)  tries  the  supposed  offender  accord- 
ing to  rules  of  procedure,  including  rules  of  evidence  or 
proof,  which  are  also  publicly  promulgated;  and  (5) 
takes  upon  itself  the  punishment  of  the  offender,  if  found 
guilty.  The  history  of  this  change,  important  and  in- 
teresting as  it  is,  does  not  belong  here.  We  are  concerned 
here  only  with  the  relation  of  public  authority,  public 
law,  and  public  activity  to  the  development  of  the  free- 
dom of  the  individual  on  one  side  and  of  his  responsibility 
on  the  other. ^  We  shall  point  out  in  a  number  of  particu- 
lars that  the  evolution  of  freedom  and  responsibility  in 
individuals  has  coincided  with  the  evolution  of  a  public 
and  impartial  authority. 

I.  Good  and  Evil  as  Quasi-Physical. — There  are  two 
alternatives  in  the  judgment  of  good  and  evil.  (1)  They 
may  be  regarded  as  having  moral  significance,  that  is, 
as  having  a  voluntary  basis  and  origin.  (2)  Or  they  may 
be  considered  as  substantial  properties  of  things,  as  a  sort 
of  essence  diffused  through  them,  or  as  a  kind  of  force 
resident  in  them,  in  virtue  of  which  persons  and  things  are 
noxious  or  helpful,  malevolent  or  kindly.  Savage  tribes, 
for  instance,  cannot  conceive  either  sickness  or  death  as 
natural  evils;  they  are  attributed  to  the  malicious  magic 
of  an  enemy.  Similarly  the  evil  which  follows  from  the 
acts  of  a  man  is  treated  as  a  sign  of  some  metaphysical 
tendency  inherent  in  him.  Some  men  bring  bad  luck  upon 
everything  and  everybody  they  have  anything  to  do  with. 

^  Those  interested  in  this  important  history,  as  every  student  of 
morals  may  well  be,  will  find  easily  accessible  material  in  the  fol- 
lowing references:  Hobhouse,  Morals  in  Evolution,  ch.  iii.  of  Vol.  I.; 
Hearn,  The  Aryan  Household,  ch.  xix.;  Westermarck,  The  Origin  and 
Development  of  the  Moral  Ideas,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  120-185,  and  parts  of 
ch.  XX.;  Sutherland,  Origin  and  Growth  of  the  Moral  Instinct,  chs. 
XX.  and  xxi.;  Pollock  and  Maitland,  History  of  English  Law,  Vol. 
II.,  pp.  447-460  and  ch.  ix.;  Pollock,  Oxford  Lectures  (The  King's 
Peace) ;  Cherry,  Criminal  Law  in  Ancient  Communities;  Maine, 
Ancient  Law.  References  to  anthropological  literature,  dealing  with 
savage  and  barbarian  customs,  will  be  found  especially  in  Wester- 
marck and  Hobhouse, 


458     CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

A  curse  is  on  their  doings.  No  distinction  is  made  be- 
tween such  evils  and  those  which  flow  from  intention  and 
character.  The  notion  of  the  moral  or  voluntary  nature 
of  good  and  evil  hardly  obtains.  The  quasi-physical  view, 
bordering  upon  the  magical,  prevails.  The  result  is  that 
evil  is  thought  of  as  a  contagious  matter,  transmitted  from 
generation  to  generation,  from  class  or  person  to  class  or 
person;  and  as  something  to  be  got  rid  of,  if  at  all,  by 
devices  which  are  equally  physical.  Natural  evils,  plagues, 
defeats,  earthquakes,  etc.,  are  treated  as  quasi-moraly  while 
moral  evils  are  treated  as  more  than  half  physical. 
Sins  are  infectious  diseases,  and  natural  diseases  are 
malicious  interferences  of  a  human  or  divine  enemy. 
Morals  are  materialized,  and  nature  is  moralized  or 
demoralized.^ 

Now  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  point  out  the  effect  of 
such  conceptions  in  restricting  the  freedom  and  responsi- 
bility of  the  individual  person.  Man  is  hemmed  in  as  to 
thought  and  action  on  all  sides  by  all  kinds  of  myste- 
rious forces  working  in  unforeseeable  ways.  This  is  true 
enough  in  his  best  estate.  When  to  this  limitation  is  added 
a  direction  of  energy  into  magical  channels,  away  from 
those  controllable  sources  of  evil  which  reside  in  human  dis- 
position, the  amount  of  eff'ective  freedom  possible  is  slight. 
This  same  misplacing  of  liability  holds  men  accountable 
for  acts  they  have  not  committed,  because  some  magic 
tendency  for  evil  is  imputed  to  them.  Famine,  pestilence^ 
defeat  in  war  are  evils  to  be  remedied  by  sacrifice  of  goods 
or  persons  or  by  ritualistic  ceremonies;  while  the  reme- 

*  For  facts  regarding  the  importance  and  nature  of  these  concep- 
tions, see  Westermarck,  op.  cit.,  pp.  52-72;  Robertson  Smith,  The 
Religion  of  the  Semites,  pp.  427-435  and  139-149;  Jevons,  Introduction 
to  the  History  of  Religion;  Hobhouse,  op.  cit.,  Vol.  II.,  chs.  i.  and  ii.; 
and  in  general  facts  bearing  on  the  relations  between  taboos,  holiness, 
and  uncleanness;  ablutions,  purifications  by  fire,  transference  by 
scapegoats;  also  the  evil  power  of  curses,  and  the  early  conceptions 
of  doom  and  fate.  For  a  suggestive  interpretation  of  the  underlying 
facts,  see  Santayana,  The  Life  of  Reason,  Vol.  Ill,,  chs.  iii.  and  iv. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  CIVIL  RIGHTS        459 

diable   causes   of  harm   in   human   ignorance   and   negli- 
gence go  without  attention. 

2.  Accident  and  Intention. — Under  such  circumstances, 
little  distinction  can  be  made  between  the  good  and  evil 
which  an  individual  meant  to  do  and  that  which  he  hap- 
pened to  do.  The  working  presumption  of  society,  up  to 
a  comparatively  late  stage  of  its  history,  was  that  every 
harmful  consequence  is  an  evidence  of  evil  disposition 
in  those  who  were  in  any  way  concerned.  This  limitation 
of  freedom  was  accompanied  by  a  counterpart  limitation 
of  responsibility.  Where  no  harm  actually  resulted,  there 
was  thought  to  be  no  harmful  intent.  Animals  and  even 
inanimate  objects  which  do  injury  are  baleful  things  and 
come  under  disapprobation  and  penalty.  Even  in  civil- 
ized Athens  there  was  a  survival  of  the  practice  of  holding 
inanimate  things  liable.  If  a  tree  fell  on  a  man  and  killed 
him,  the  tree  was  to  be  brought  to  trial,  and  after  con- 
demnation cast  beyond  the  civic  borders,  i.e.,  outlawed.^ 
Anyhow,  the  owner  of  an  offending  article  was  almost 
always  penahzed.  Westermarck,^  with  reference  to  the 
guilt  of  animals,  cites  an  instance,  dated  in  1457,  "when 
a  sow  and  her  six  young  ones  were  tried  on  a  charge  of 
their  having  murdered  and  partly  eaten  a  child;  the  sow, 
being  found  guilty,  was  condemned  to  death,  the  young 
pigs  were  acquitted  on  account  of  their  youth  and  the 
bad  example  of  their  mother."  When  sticks,  stones,  and 
animals  are  held  accountable  for  evil  results,  there  is  little 
chance  of  discriminating  intent  and  accident  or  misad- 
venture in  the  case  of  personal  agents.  "The  devil  him- 
self knoweth  not  the  intent,  the  'thought'  of  man"  was 

*  See  Plato,  Laios,  IX.,  873.  Compare  Holmes,  Common  Law.  In 
mediaeval  and  early  modern  Europe,  offending  objects  were  "deo- 
dand,"  that  is,  devoted  to  God.  They  were  to  be  appropriated  by 
the  proper  civil  or  ecclesiastical  authority,  and  used  for  charity.  In 
theory,  this  lasted  in  England  up  to  1846.  See  Tylor,  Primitive  Cul- 
ture, Vol.  I.,  pp.  286-287;  and  Pollock  and  Maitland,  op.  cit,,  II., 
pp.  471-472. 

»  Op.  cit.,  p.  257. 


460    CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

the  mediseval  maxim;  all  that  can  be  certain  is  that  harm 
has  come  and  the  one  who  caused  it  must  suffer;  or  else 
no  overt  harm  has  come  and  no  one  is  to  blame/  Harm 
has  been  done  and  any  one  concerned,  even  remotely,  in 
the  injurious  situation,  is  ex  officio  guilty;  it  will  not  do 
to  take  chances.  The  remoteness  of  an  implication  which 
may  involve  liability  is  seen  in  the  condition  of  English 
law  in  the  thirteenth  century:  "At  your  request  I  ac- 
company you  when  you  are  about  your  own  affairs:  my 
enemies  fall  upon  and  kill  me :  you  must  pay  for  my  death. 
You  take  me  to  see  a  wild-beast  show,  or  that  interesting 
spectacle  a  madman :  beast  or  madman  kills  me ;  you  must 
pay.  You  hang  up  your  sword;  some  one  else  knocks  it 
down  so  that  it  cuts  me ;  you  must  pay."  ^  Only  gradually 
did  intent  clearly  evolve  as  the  central  element  in  an  act, 
and  thus  lead  to  the  idea  of  a  voluntary  or  free  act. 

That  the  limitation  upon  the  side  of  responsibility  was 
equally  great  is  obvious.  If  a  man  is  held  liable  for  what 
he  did  not  and  could  not  foresee  or  desire,  there  is  no 
ground  for  his  holding  himself  responsible  for  antici- 
pating the  consequences  of  his  acts,  and  forming  his 
plans  according  as  he  foresees.  This  comes  out  clearly 
in  the  obverse  of  what  has  just  been  said.  If  no  harm 
results  from  a  willful  attempt  to  do  evil,  the  individual  is 
not  blamed.  He  goes  scot  free.  "An  attempt  to  commit 
a  crime  is  no  crime."  ^ 

3.  Character  and  Circumstances — Even  in  law,  to  say 
nothing  of  personal  moral  judgments,  we  now  almost  as  a 
matter  of  course  take  into  account,  in  judging  an  agent's 
intent,  both  circumstances,  and  character  as  inferred  from 
past  behavior.     We  extend  our  view  of  consequences,  tak- 

*  The  very  words  cause  and  to  blame  are  closely  connected  in  their 
origin.     Cf.  the  Greek    aiTia. 

'  Pollock  and  Maitland,  op.  cit,  II.,  p.  469 ;  I.,  30.  For  the  history 
of  the  idea  of  accident  in  English  law  with  reference  to  homicide, 
see  also  pp.  477-483.  Also  Stephen,  History  of  the  Criminal  Law  in 
England,  Vol.  III.,  pp.  316-376. 

"Pollock  and  Maitland,  II.,  p.  473;  see  Westermarck,  pp.  240-247. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  CIVIL  RIGHTS        461 

ing  into  account  in  judging  the  moral  quality  of  a  partic- 
ular deed,  consequences  its  doer  is  habitually  found  to 
effect.  We  blame  the  individual  less  for  a  deed  if  we  find  it 
contrary  to  his  habitual  course.  We  blame  him  more,  if  we 
find  he  has  a  character  given  to  that  sort  of  thing.  We 
take  into  account,  in  short,  the  permanent  attitude  and 
disposition  of  the  agent.  We  also  discriminate  the  condi- 
tions and  consequences  of  a  deed  much  more  carefully. 
Self-defense,  protection  of  others  or  of  property,  come 
in  as  "extenuating  circumstances";  the  degree  of  provo- 
cation, the  presence  of  immediate  impulsive  fear  or  anger, 
as  distinct  from  a  definitely  formed,  long-cherished  idea, 
are  considered.  The  questions  of  first  or  of  repeated 
offense,  of  prior  criminality  or  good  behavior,  enter 
in.  Questions  of  heredity,  of  early  environment,  of  early 
education  and  opportunity  are  being  brought  to-day  into 
account. 

We  are  still  very  backward  in  this  respect,  both  in  per- 
sonal and  in  public  morals;  in  private  judgment  and  in 
legal  procedure  and  penalty.  Only  recently  have  we,  for 
example,  begun  to  treat  juvenile  delinquents  in  special 
ways ;  and  the  effort  to  carry  appropriate  methods  further 
meets  with  strong  opposition  and  the  even  stronger  in- 
ertia of  indifference.  It  is  regarded  by  many  good 
people  as  lowering  the  bars  of  responsibility  to  consider 
early  training  and  opportunity,  just  as  in  its  day  it  was 
so  regarded  to  plead  absence  of  intent  in  cases  where  evil 
had  actually  resulted.  It  is  not  "safe"  to  let  any  one 
off  from  the  rigor  of  the  law.  The  serious  barrier,  now 
as  earlier,  is  upon  the  scientific  or  intellectual  side.  There 
was  a  time  when  it  did  not  seem  feasible  to  pass  upon 
intent;  it  was  hidden,  known  only  to  God.  But  we  have 
now  devised  ways,  adequate  in  principle,  though  faulty 
in  detail,  to  judge  immediate  intent;  similarly,  with  the 
growth  of  anthropology,  psychology,  statistics,  and  the 
resources  of  publicity  in  social  science,  we  shall  in  time 


462    CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

find  it  possible  to  consider  the  effects  of  heredity,  early 
environment,  and  training  upon  character  and  so  upon 
intent.  We  shall  then  regard  present  methods  of  judging 
intent  to  be  almost  as  barbarous  as  we  now  consider  the 
earlier  disregard  of  accident  and  provocation.  Above 
all  we  shall  learn  that  increased,  not  relaxed  responsibility, 
comes  with  every  increase  of  discrimination  of  causes  lying 
in  character  and  conditions.^ 

4.  Intellectual  Incapacity  and  Thoughtlessness. — ^With 
increasing  recognition  of  character  as  the  crucial  element 
in  voluntary  action,  we  now  take  into  account  such  matters 
as  age,  idiocy,  and  insanity  as  factors  of  judgment.  But 
this  also  has  been  a  slow  growth.  If  we  take  the  one 
question  of  insanity,  for  example,  in  1724  exculpation  for 
harm  resulting  from  a  madman's  acts  required  that  the 
person  excused  "be  a  man  that  is  totally  deprived  of 
his  understanding  and  memory,  and  doth  not  know  what 
he  is  doing,  no  more  than  an  infant,  than  a  brute,  or  a 
wild  beast."  At  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
the  excuse  was  no  longer  that  of  being  such  a  raving 
lunatic  as  is  here  implied ;  but  of  knowing  right  and  wrong 
from  each  other  in  the  abstract.  By  a  celebrated  case  in 
1843,  the  rule  was  changed,  in  English  law,  to  knowl- 
edge of  the  difference  between  right  and  wrong  in  the 
particular  case.  Further  advance  waits  upon  progress 
of  science  which  will  make  it  more  possible  to  judge  the 
specific  mental  condition  of  the  person  acting;  and  thus 
do  away  with  the  abuses  of  the  present  system  which  tend, 
on  the  one  hand,  to  encourage  the  pleading  of  insanity  where 
none  may  exist ;  and,  on  the  other  hand  (by  a  rigid  appli- 
cation of  a  technical  rule),  to  condemn  persons  really  irre- 

*  The  slowness  and  indirectness  of  change  throw  light  upon  the 
supposed  distinction  of  justice  and  mercy  (see  ante,  p.  415).  When 
the  practical  injustice  of  regarding  accidental  homicide  or  killing  in 
self-defense  as  murder  began  to  be  felt,  the  theory  was  still  that 
the  man  in  justice  was  guilty,  but  that  he  was  to  be  recommended 
to  the  crown  for  mercy  or  pardon.  This  was  a  mean  terra  in  the 
evolution  of  our  present  notion  of  justice. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  CIVIL  RIGHTS        463 

sponsible/  Popular  judgment  still  inclines  to  impute  clear 
and  definite  intention  on  the  basis  of  results ;  and  to  ignore 
conditions  of  intellectual  confusion  and  bewilderment,  and 
justifies  itself  in  its  course  on  the  ground  that  such  is  the 
only  "safe"  course.^ 

Responsibility  for  Thoughtlessness. — But  the  release 
from  responsibility  for  deeds  in  which  the  doer  is  intel- 
lectually incapacitated,  is  met  on  the  other  side  by  holding 
individuals  of  normal  mental  constitution  responsible  for 
some  consequences  which  were  not  thought  of  at  all.  We 
even  hold  men  accountable  for  not  thinking  to  do  certain 
acts.  The  former  are  acts  of  heedlessness  or  carelessness, 
as  when  a  mason  on  top  of  a  building  throws  rubbish  on 
to  a  street  below  which  injures  some  one,  without  any 
thought  on  his  part  of  this  result,  much  less  any  deliberate 
desire  to  effect  it.  The  latter  are  acts  of  negligence,  as 
when,  say,  an  engineer  fails  to  note  a  certain  signal.  In 
such  cases  even  when  no  harm  results,  we  now  hold  the 
agent  morally  culpable.  Similarly  we  blame  children  for 
not  thinking  of  the  consequences  of  their  acts;  we  blame 
them  for  not  thinking  to  do  certain  things  at  a  certain 
time — to  come  home  when  told,  and  so  on.  This  is  not 
merely  a  matter  of  judgment  by  others.  The  more  con- 
scientious a  person  is,  the  more  occasions  he  finds  to  judge 
himself  with  respect  to  results  which  happened  because  he 
did  not  think  or  deliberate  or  foresee  at  all — provided  he 
has  reason  to  believe  he  would  have  thought  of  the  harmful 
results  if  he  had  been  of  a  different  character.  Because 
we  were  absorbed  in  something  else  we  did  not  think,  and 
while,  in  the  abstract,  this  something  else  may  have  been 

*  For  some  of  the  main  historic  facts  on  intellectual  disability, 
see  Westermarck,  pp.  264-277. 

'  Popular  judgment,  we  may  say,  tends  to  be  as  grossly  utilitarian 
in  its  practice  as  it  is  grossly  intuitional  in  its  theoretical  standpoint. 
In  assuming  the  possibility  of  an  almost  infallible,  oflFhand,  pat  per- 
ception of  right  and  wrong,  it  commits  itself  practically  to  judging 
in  an  offhand,  analyzed  way,  on  the  basis  of  the  evils  which  overtty 
result. 


464    CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

all  right,  in  the  concrete  it  may  be  proof  of  an  unworthy 
character.  The  very  fact  that  we  permitted  ourselves  to 
become  so  absorbed  that  the  thought  of  an  engagement, 
or  of  an  opportunity  to  help  some  friend  whom  we  knew 
to  be  in  need,  did  not  occur  to  us,  is  evidence  of  a  selfish, 
i.e.,  inconsiderate,  character. 

The  case  seems  paradoxical  and  is  crucial.  Others 
hold  us  responsible  because  we  were  irresponsible  in  action 
and  in  order  that  we  may  become  responsible.  We 
blame  ourselves  precisely  because  we  discover  that  an 
unconscious  preference  for  a  private  or  exclusive  good 
led  us  to  be  careless  of  the  good  of  others.  The  effect 
(if  the  regret  is  genuine,  not  simulated)  is  to  develop 
a  habit  of  greater  thoughtf nines s  in  the  future.  Less  and 
less  do  men  accept  for  others  or  for  themselves  ignorance 
as  an  excuse  for  bad  consequences,  when  the  ignorance 
itself  flows  from  character.  Our  chief  moral  business 
is  to  become  acquainted  with  consequences.  Our  moral 
character  surely  does  not  depend  in  this  case,  then,  upon 
the  fact  that  we  had  alternatives  clearly  in  mind  and  chose 
the  worse;  the  difficulty  is  that  we  had  only  one  alterna- 
tive in  mind  and  did  not  consciously  choose  at  all.  Our 
freedom  lies  in  the  capacity  to  alter  our  mode  of  action, 
through  having  our  ignorance  enlightened  by  being  held 
for  the  neglected  consequences,  when  brought  to  accounta- 
bility by  others,  or  by  holding  ourselves  accountable  in  sub^ 
sequent  reflection.  Cases  of  careless  acts  and  of  acts 
omitted  through  negligence  are  thus  crucial  for  any  theory 
of  freedom  and  responsibility.  Either  we  are  all  wrong  in 
blaming  ourselves  or  others  in  such  cases,  because  there  is 
no  free  or  voluntary  element  in  them;  or  else  there  is 
responsibility  when  deliberate  comparison  of  alternatives 
and  conscious  preference  are  absent.  There  is  responsi- 
bility for  the  absence  of  deliberation.  Nature  does  not 
forbear  to  attach  consequences  to  acts  because  of  the 
ignorance  of  the  one  who  does  the  deed.     The  evil  results 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  CIVIL  RIGHTS        465 

that  follow  in  the  wake  of  a  thoughtless  act  are  precisely 
the  reminders  that  make  one  take  thought  the  next  time. 
Similarly,  to  be  held  liable  by  others  or  to  take  ourselves  to 
task  for  forgetfulness,  inconsiderateness,  and  negligence, 
is  the  way  in  which  to  build  up  conscientious  foresight  and 
deliberate  choice.  The  increased  complexity  and  danger 
of  modern  industrial  activity,  the  menace  of  electric  power, 
of  high  explosives,  of  railway  trains  and  trolley  cars,  of 
powerful  machines,  have  done  much  to  quicken  recog- 
nition that  negligence  may  be  criminal,  and  to  reawaken 
the  conviction  of  Greek  thought  that  thoughtless  igno- 
rance, where  knowledge  is  possible,  is  the  worst  of  evils. 
The  increased  interdependence  of  men,  through  travel 
and  transportation,  collective  methods  of  production,  and 
crowding  of  population  in  cities,  has  widened  the  area 
of  the  harm  likely  to  result  from  inconsiderate  action,  and 
has  strengthened  the  belief  that  adequate  thoughtfulness  is 
possible  only  where  there  is  sympathetic  interest  in  others. 

5.  The  Conflict  of  Form  and  Substance The  technical 

forms  of  procedure  concerned  in  establishing  and  reme- 
dying rights  were,  for  long  ages,  more  important  than 
the  substantial  ends  by  which  alone  the  forms  may  be 
justified.  Any  effort  for  a  remedy  was  nullified  if  the 
minutiae  of  complicated  formulae  (largely  magical  or  ritu- 
alistic in  their  origin)  were  deviated  from.  Almost  any 
obligation  might  be  escaped  by  some  quirk  or  turn  in  some 
slight  phrase  or  motion,  without  which  no  agreement  was 
binding,  so  sacramental  was  the  importance  of  the  very 
words.  In  early  days  the  rigidity  of  these  semi-ritualistic 
performances  doubtless  served  to  check  arbitrary  and 
reckless  acts,  and  to  impress  the  sense  of  the  value  of  a 
standard.^     But  they  survived  as  "rudimentary  organs" 

*  See  Pollock  and  Maitland,  Vol.  II.,  p.  561,  who  quote  from 
Ihering:  "Formulation  is  the  sworn  enemy  of  arbitrariness,  the  twin- 
sister  of  liberty";  and  who  add:  "As  time  goes  on  there  is  always 
a  larger  room  for  discretion  in  the  law  of  procedure:  but  discre- 
tionary powers  can  only  be  safely  entrusted  to  judges  whose  im- 


4^66    CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

long  after  they  had  done  their  work  in  this  respect;  and 
after  they  had  been  eliminated  from  legal  procedure  they 
survived  as  habits  of  judging  conduct. 

Survivals  of  Spirit  of  Individualistic  Litigation. — The 
fact  that  the  procedure  of  justice  originated  as  methods 
of  supplying  impartial  umpires  for  conflicts  waged  be- 
tween individuals,  has  had  serious  consequences.  It  has 
had  indeed  the  desirable  consequence  of  quickening  men 
to  the  perception  of  their  rights  and  to  their  obligation  as 
social  members  to  maintain  them  intact.  But  it  has  also 
had  the  undesirable  result  of  limiting  the  function  of  the 
public  interest  to  the  somewhat  negative  one  of  securing 
fair  play  between  contentious  individuals.  The  battle  is 
not  now  fought  out  with  fists  or  spears  or  oaths  or  ordeals : 
but  it  is  largely  a  battle  of  wits  and  of  technical  resources 
between  the  opposite  parties  and  their  lawyers,  with  the 
State  acting  the  part  of  a  benevolently  neutral  umpire. 
The  ignorant,  the  poor,  the  foreign,  and  the  merely 
honest  are  almost  inevitably  at  a  discount  in  this  battle.^ 
And,  in  any  case,  the  technical  aspect  of  justice,  that  is, 
the  question  of  proper  forms  gets  out  of  true  perspective. 
The  "legally-minded"  man  is  likely  to  be  one  with  whom 
technical  precedents  and  rules  are  more  important  than 
the  goods  to  be  achieved  and  the  evils  to  be  avoided.  With 
increase  of  publicity  and  scientific  methods  of  determining 
and  interpreting  facts,  and  with  a  public  and  professional 
criticism  which  is  impartial  and  wise,  we  may  anticipate 
that  the  supremacy  of  the  general  good  will  be  increas- 
ingly recognized  in  cases  of  litigation,  and  that  the  courts, 
as  organs  of  public  justice,  will  take  a  more  active  and  sub- 
stantial part  in  the  management  of  all  legal  controversies.* 

partiality  is  above  suspicion  and  whose  every  act  is  exposed  to  public 
and  professional  criticism." 

*  A  lawyer,  asked  if  the  poor  were  not  at  a  disadvantage  in  the 
legal  maintenance  of  their  rights,  replied:  "Not  any  more  than  they 
are  in  the  other  relations  of  life." 

2  The  devices  of  "equity"  as  distinct  from  strict  legality  are  of 
course  in  part  intended  to  secure  this  result. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  CIVIL  RIGHTS        467 

Legal  and  Moral. — But,  at  the  best,  definitions  of  rights 
and  of  remedial  procedures  only  ( 1 )  lay  down  general,  not 
individual  conditions,  and  (2),  so  far  as  they  are  strict, 
register  precedent  and  custom  rather  than  anticipate  the 
novel  and  variable.  They  can  state  what  shall  not  be 
done.  Except  in  special  cases,  they  cannot  state  what 
shall  be  done,  much  less  the  spirit  and  disposition  in  which 
it  shall  be  done.  In  their  formulations,  they  present  a  sort 
of  minimum  limit  of  morality  not  to  be  overstepped  by 
those  inclined  to  ill.  They  throw  little  light  on  the  posi- 
tive capacities  and  responsibilities  of  those  who  are  socially 
minded.  They  have  a  moral  purpose:  they  free  energy 
from  the  friction  attendant  upon  vague,  obscure,  and 
uncertain  situations,  by  enlightening  men  as  to  what  they 
may  do  and  how  they  may  do  it.  But  the  exaggeration 
of  form  at  the  expense  of  the  substantial  end  and  good, 
leads  to  misplaced  emphasis  and  false  perspective.  The 
rules  are  treated  as  ends ;  they  are  employed  not  to  get 
insight  into  consequences,  but  as  justifying,  apart  from 
consequences,  certain  acts.  The  would-be  conscientious 
agent  is  led  into  considering  goodness  as  a  matter  of  obey- 
ing rules,  not  of  fulfilling  ends.  The  average  individual 
conceives  he  has  satisfied  the  requirements  of  morality  when 
he  has  conformed  to  the  average  level  of  legal  definition 
and  prescription.  Egoistic,  self-seeking  men  regard  their 
actions  as  sanctioned  if  they  have  not  broken  the  laws ;  and 
decide  this  question  by  success  in  evading  penalties.  The 
intelligence  that  should  go  to  employing  the  spirit  of  laws 
to  enlighten  behavior  is  spent  in  ingenious  inventions  for 
observing  their  letter.  The  "respectable"  citizen  of  this 
type  is  one  of  the  unsocialized  forces  that  social  reformers 
find  among  their  most  serious  obstacles. 

This  identification  of  morality  with  the  legal  and  jural 
leads  to  a  reaction  which  is  equally  injurious:  the  com- 
plete separation  of  the  legal  and  the  moral,  the  former 
conceived  as  merely  "outer,"  concerned  entirely  with  acts, 


468     CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

not  at  all  with  motive  and  character.  The  effect  of  this 
divorce  is  perhaps  more  serious  upon  the  moral  than  upon 
the  legal.  The  separation  makes  morals  sentimental  and 
whimsical,  or  else  transcendental  and  esoteric.  It  leads 
to  neglect  of  the  social  and  institutional  realities  which 
form  a  world  of  action  as  surely  as  natural  objects  and 
energies  form  a  physical  world,  and  ends  in  the  popular 
conception  of  morals  as  just  a  matter  of  "goodness" 
(the  goody-goodiness )  of  individuals.  One  of  the  most 
fundamental  of  moral  duties  is  that  of  making  the  legal 
order  a  more  adequate  expression  of  the  common  good. 

Special  Problems. — Civil  Society  thus  imposes  upon  its 
members  not  only  specific  obligations,  but  it  also  imposes 
upon  all  who  enjoy  its  benefits  the  supreme  obligation  of 
seeing  that  the  civic  order  is  itself  intelligently  just  in 
its  methods  of  procedure.  The  peculiar  moral  problems 
which  men  have  to  face  as  members  of  civil  society  change, 
of  course,  from  time  to  time  with  change  of  conditions; 
among  the  more  urgent  of  present  problems,  we  may 
mention : 

I.  Reform  of  Criminal  Procedure. — The  negative  side 
of  morality  is  never  so  important  as  the  positive,  because 
the  pathological  cannot  be  as  important  as  the  physio- 
logical of  which  it  is  a  disturbance  and  perversion.  But 
no  fair  survey  of  our  methods,  either  of  locating  criminality 
or  of  punishing  it,  can  fail  to  note  that  they  contain  far 
too  many  survivals  of  barbarism.  Compared  with  primi- 
tive times  we  have  indeed  won  a  precious  conquest.  Even  as 
late  as  1813,  a  proposal  to  change  the  penalty  for  stealing 
five  shillings  from  death  to  transportation  to  a  remote 
colony,  was  defeated  in  England.^  But  we  are  likely  in 
flattering  ourselves  upon  the  progress  made  to  overlook 
that  which  it  remains  to  make.  Our  trials  are  technical 
rather  than  human :  they  assume  that  just  about  so  much 

*  Robinson  and  Beard,  Development  of  Modern  Europe,  Vol.  II., 
p.  207. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  CIVIL  RIGHTS        469 

persistent  criminality  must  persist  in  any  case.  They 
endeavor,  in  rather  routine  and  perfunctory  ways,  to  label 
this  and  that  person  as  criminal  in  such  and  such  degrees, 
or,  by  technical  devices  and  resources,  to  acquit.  In  many 
American  states,  distrust  of  government,  inherited  from 
days  of  tyrannical  monarchy  or  oligarchy,  protects  the 
accused  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  For  fear  the  government 
will  unjustly  infringe  upon  the  liberty  of  the  individual, 
the  latter  is  not  only — as  is  just — regarded  as  innocent  till 
proved  guilty ;  but  is  provided  with  every  possible  technical 
advantage  in  rules  of  evidence,  postponements  and  ap- 
peals, advantages  backed  up,  in  many  cities,  by  associa- 
tion with  political  bosses  which  give  him  a  corrupt  "pull." 
On  the  other  hand,  there  is  as  yet  no  general  recognition 
of  the  possibility  of  an  unbiased  scientific  investigation 
into  all  the  antecedents  (hereditary  and  environmental)  of 
evildoers ;  an  investigation  which  would  connect  the  wrong 
done  with  the  character  of  the  individual  committing  it,  and 
not  merely  with  one  of  a  number  of  technical  degrees  of 
crime,  laid  down  in  the  statute  books  in  the  abstract,  with- 
out reference  to  particular  characters  and  circumstances. 
Thus  while  the  evildoer  has  in  one  direction  altogether 
too  much  of  a  chance  to  evade  justice,  he  has  in  another 
direction  a  chance  at  only  technical,  rather  than  at  moral, 
justice — justice  as  an  individual  human  being.  It  is  not 
possible  to  discuss  here  various  methods  which  have  been 
proposed  for  remedying  these  defects.  But  it  is  clearly 
the  business  of  the  more  thoughtful  members  of  society 
to  consider  the  evils  seriously  and  to  interest  themselves 
actively  in  their  reform.  W^e  need,  above  all,  a  change  in 
two  respects:  (a)  recognition  of  the  possibilities  of  new 
methods  of  judgment  which  the  sciences  of  physiology, 
psychology,  and  sociology  have  brought  about;  and  (b) 
surrender  of  that  feudal  conception  according  to  which 
men  are  divided,  as  it  were  essentially,  into  two  classes: 
one  the  criminal  and  the  other  the  meritorious.     We  need 


470    CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

to  consider  the  ways  in  which  the  pressure  and  the  opportu- 
nities of  environment  and  education,  of  poverty  and  com- 
fortable Hving,  of  extraneous  suggestion  and  stimulation, 
make  the  differences  between  one  man  and  another;  and 
to  recognize  how  fundamentally  one  human  nature  is  at 
bottom.  Juvenile  courts,  probation  officers,  detention 
officers,  mark  the  beginnings  of  what  is  possible,  but  only 
the  beginnings.  For  the  most  part  crime  is  still  treated 
sordidly  and  by  routine,  except  when,  being  sensational, 
it  is  the  occasion  for  a  great  battle  of  wits  between  keen 
prosecuting  attorney  and  clever  "criminal  lawyer,"  with 
the  world  through  the  newspapers  watching  the  display. 

2.  Reform  of  Punishment. — Emerson's  bitter  words  are 
still  too  applicable.  "  Our  distrust  is  very  expensive.  The 
money  we  spend  for  courts  and  prisons  is  very  ill  laid  out. 
We  make,  by  distrust,  the  thief  and  burglar  and  incen- 
diary, and  by  our  court  and  j  ail  we  keep  him  so."  ^  Re- 
formatories, whose  purpose  is  change  of  disposition,  not 
mere  penalization,  have  been  founded;  but  there  are  still 
many  more  prisons  than  reformatories.  And,  if  it  be 
argued  that  most  criminals  are  so  hardened  in  evil-doing 
that  reformatories  are  of  no  use,  the  answer  is  twofold. 
We  do  not  know,  because  we  have  never  systematically 
and  intelligently  tried  to  find  out ;  and,  even  if  it  were  so, 
nothing  is  more  illogical  than  to  turn  the  unreformed  crim- 
inal, at  the  end  of  a  certain  number  of  months  or  years, 
loose  to  prey  again  upon  society.  Either  reform  or  else 
permanent  segregation  is  the  logical  alternative.  Inde- 
terminate sentences,  release  on  probation,  discrimination  of 
classes  of  offenders,  separation  of  the  first  and  more  or 
less  accidental  and  immature  offender  from  the  old  and 
experienced  hand,  special  matrons  for  women  offenders, 
introduction  of  education  and  industrial  training  into  pen- 
itentiaries, the  finding  of  employment  for  those  released — 

*"Man  the  Reformer." 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  CIVIL  RIGHTS        471 

all  mark  improvements.  They  are,  however,  as  yet  in- 
choate. Intelligent  members  of  society  need  to  recognize 
their  own  responsibility  for  the  promotion  of  such  reforms 
and  for  the  discovery  of  new  ones. 

3.  Increase  of  Administrative  Efficiency. — In  the  last 
one  hundred  years,  society  has  rapidly  grown  in  inter- 
nal complexity.  Commercial  changes  have  brought  about 
an  intense  concentration  of  population  in  cities;  have 
promoted  migratory  travel  and  intercourse,  with  destruc- 
tion of  local  ties ;  have  developed  world  markets  and  col- 
lective but  impersonal  (corporate)  production  and  distri- 
bution. Many  new  problems  have  been  created,  while  at 
the  same  time  many  of  the  old  agencies  for  maintaining 
order  have  been  weakened  or  destroyed,  especially  such 
as  were  adapted  to  small  groups  with  fixed  habits.  A 
great  strain  has  thus  been  put  upon  the  instrumentalities 
of  justice.  Pioneer  conditions  retarded  in  America  the 
development  of  the  problems  incident  upon  industrial 
reconstruction.  The  possibility  of  moving  on,  of  taking 
up  new  land,  finding  unutilized  resources  of  forest  and 
mine,  the  development  of  new  professions,  the  growth  of 
population  with  new  needs  to  be  met,  stimulated  and  re- 
warded individual  enterprise.  Under  such  circumstances 
there  could  be  no  general  demand  for  public  agencies  of 
inspection,  supervision,  and  publicity.  But  the  pioneer 
days  of  America  are  practically  ended.  American  cities 
and  states  find  themselves  confronted  with  the  same  prob- 
lems of  public  health,  poverty  and  unemployment,  con- 
gested population,  traffic  and  transportation,  charitable 
relief,  tramps  and  vagabondage,  and  so  forth,  that  have 
troubled  older  countries. 

We  face  these  problems,  moreover,  with  traditions  which 
are  averse  to  "bureaucratic"  administration  and  public 
"interference."  Public  regulation  is  regarded  as  a 
"paternalistic"  survival,  quite  unsuited  to  a  free  and 
independent  people.     It  would  be  foolish,  indeed,  to  over- 


472     CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

look  or  deny  the  great  gains  that  have  come  from  our 
American  individualistic  convictions:  the  quickening  of 
private  generosity,  the  growth  of  a  generalized  sense  of 
noblesse  oblige — of  what  every  successful  individual  owes 
to  his  community;  of  personal  initiative,  self-reliance, 
and  versatile  "faculty";  of  interest  in  all  the  voluntary 
agencies  which  by  education  and  otherwise  develop  the 
individuality  of  every  one ;  and  of  a  demand  for  equality  of 
opportunity,  a  fair  chance,  and  a  square  deal  for  all.  But 
it  is  certain  that  the  country  has  reached  a  state  of 
development,  in  which  these  individual  achievements  and  pos- 
sibilities require  new  civic  and  political  agencies  if  they 
are  to  be  maintained  as  realities.  Individualism  means 
inequity,  harshness,  and  retrogression  to  barbarism  (no 
matter  under  what  veneer  of  display  and  luxury),  unless 
it  is  a  generalized  individualism:  an  individualism  which 
takes  into  account  the  real  good  and  effective — not  merely 
formal — freedom  of  every  social  member. 

Hence  the  demand  for  civic  organs — city,  state, 
and  federal, — of  expert  inquiry,  inspection,  and  super- 
vision with  respect  to  a  large  number  of  interests 
which  are  too  widespread  and  too  intricate  to  be  well 
cared  for  by  private  or  voluntary  initiative.  The 
well-to-do  in  great  cities  may  segregate  themselves  in 
the  more  healthful  quarters;  they  may  rely  upon  their 
automobiles  for  local  transportation ;  they  may  secure  pure 
milk  and  unadulterated  foods  from  personal  resources; 
they  may,  by  their  combined  "pull,"  secure  good  schools, 
policing,  lighting,  and  well-paved  streets  for  their  own 
localities.  But  the  great  masses  are  dependent  upon  pub- 
lic agencies  for  proper  air,  light,  sanitary  conditions  of 
work  and  residence,  cheap  and  effective  transportation, 
pure  food,  decent  educative  and  recreative  facilities  in 
schools,  libraries,  museums,  parks. 

The  problems  which  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  proper  organs 
of  administrative  inspection  and  supervision  are  essentially 


POLITICAL  RIGHTS  AND  OBLIGATIONS     473 

scientific  problems,  questions  for  expert  intelligence  con- 
joined with  wide  sympathy.  In  the  true  sense  of  the  word 
political,  they  are  political  questions:  that  is,  they  relate 
to  the  welfare  of  society  as  an  organized  community  of 
attainment  and  endeavor.  In  the  cant  sense  of  the  term 
political,  the  sense  of  conventional  party-issues  and  party- 
lines,  they  have  no  more  to  do  with  politics  than  have  the 
multiplication  table  and  the  laws  of  hygiene.  Yet  they 
are  at  present  almost  hopelessly  entangled  with  irrelevant 
"political"  issues,  and  are  almost  hopelessly  under  the 
heel  of  party-politicians  whose  least  knowledge  is  of  the 
scientific  questions  involved,  just  as  their  least  interest  is 
for  the  human  issues  at  stake.  So  far  "civil  service  re- 
form" has  been  mainly  negative :  a  purging  away  of  some 
of  the  grosser  causes  which  have  influenced  appointments 
to  office.  But  now  there  is  needed  a  constructive  reform 
of  civil  administration  which  will  develop  the  agencies 
of  inquiry,  oversight,  and  publicity  required  by  modern 
conditions ;  and  which  will  necessitate  the  selection  of 
public  servants  of  scientifically  equipped  powers. 

§  3.    POLITICAL    RIGHTS    AND    OBLIGATIONS 

No  hard  and  fast  line  can  be  drawn  between  civil  society 
and  the  State.  By  the  State,  however,  we  denote  those 
conditions  of  social  organization  and  regulation  which  are 
most  fundamental  and  most  general : — conditions  which  are 
summed  up  in  and  expressed  through  the  general  will  as 
manifested  in  legislation  and  its  execution.  As  a  civil 
right  is  technically  focused  in  the  right  to  use  the  courts, 
"to  sue  and  be  sued,"  that  is  in  the  right  to  have  other 
claims  adjudicated  and  enforced  by  a  public,  impartial 
authority,  so  a  political  right  is  technically  summed  up  in 
the  power  to  vote — either  to  vote  directly  upon  laws  or 
to  vote  for  those  who  make  and  carry  out  laws.  To  have 
the  right  in  a  legislative  assembly  to  speak  for  or  against 


474     CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

a  certain  measure ;  to  be  able  to  say  "yea"  or  "nay"  upon 
a  roll-call;  to  be  able  to  put  into  a  ballot-box  a  piece  of 
paper  with  a  number  of  names  written  thereon,  are  not 
acts  which  of  themselves  possess  the  inherent  value  of  many 
of  the  most  ordinary  transactions  of  daily  life.  But  the 
representative  and  potential  significance  of  political  rights 
exceeds  that  of  any  other  class  of  rights.  Suffrage  stands 
for  direct  and  active  participation  in  the  regulation  of 
the  terms  upon  which  associated  life  shall  be  sustained,  and 
the  pursuit  of  the  good  carried  on.  Political  freedom  and 
responsibility  express  an  individuaVs  power  and  ohliga- 
tion  to  make  effective  all  his  other  capacities  by  fixing  the 
social  conditions  of  their  exercise. 

Growth  of  Democracy. — The  evolution  of  democratic- 
ally regulated  States,  as  distinct  from  those  ordered  in  the 
interests  of  a  small  group,  or  pf  a  special  class,  is  the 
social  counterpart  of  the  development  of  a  comprehensive 
and  common  good.  Externally  viewed,  democracy  is  a 
piece  of  machinery,  to  be  maintained  or  thrown  away,  like 
any  other  piece  of  machinery,  on  the  basis  of  its  economy 
and  efficiency  of  working.  Morally,  it  is  the  effective 
embodiment  of  the  moral  ideal  of  a  good  which  consists  in 
the  development  of  all  the  social  capacities  of  every  indi- 
vidual member  of  society. 

Present  Problems:  i.  Distrust  of  Government. — Pres- 
ent moral  problems  connected  with  political  affairs  have  to 
do  with  safeguarding  the  democratic  ideal  against  the  in- 
fluences which  are  always  at  work  to  undermine  it,  and  with 
building  up  for  it  a  more  complete  and  extensive  embodi- 
ment. The  historic  antecedent  of  our  own  governmental 
system  was  the  exercise  of  a  monopoly  by  a  privileged 
class.^     It  became  a  democratic  institution  partly  because 

*  The  term  "the  King's  Peace,"  as  the  equivalent  in  England  for 
the  peace  and  order  of  the  commonwealth,  goes  back  to  a  time  when 
literally  it  meant  a  private  possession.  Pollock  says  that  the  desire 
to  collect  larger  revenues  was  the  chief  motive  for  pushing  the 
royal  jurisdiction  against  lesser  local  authorities.  Essay  on  the 
King's  Peace  in  Oxford  Essays. 


POLITICAL  RIGHTS  AND  OBLIGATIONS     475 

the  King,  in  order  to  secure  the  monopoly,  had  to  concede 
and  guarantee  to  the  masses  of  the  people  certain  rights 
as  against  the  oligarchical  interests  which  might  rival 
his  powers ;  and  partly  because  the  centralization  of  power, 
with  the  arbitrary  despotism  it  created,  called  out  protests 
which  finally  achieved  the  main  popular  liberties:  safety 
of  life  and  property  from  arbitrary  forfeiture,  arrest,  or 
seizure  by  the  sovereign;  the  rights  of  free  assembly, 
petition,  a  free  press,  and  of  representation  in  the  law- 
making body. 

Upon  its  face,  the  struggle  for  individual  liberty  was  a 
struggle  against  the  overbearing  menace  of  despotic  rulers. 
This  fact  has  survived  in  an  attitude  towards  government 
which  cripples  its  usefulness  as  an  agency  of  the  general 
will.  Government,  even  in  the  most  democratic  countries, 
is  still  thought  of  as  an  external  "ruler,"  operating  from 
above,  rather  than  as  an  organ  by  which  people  associated 
in  pursuit  of  common  ends  can  most  effectively  cooperate 
for  the  realization  of  their  own  aims.  Distrust  of  govern- 
ment was  one  of  the  chief  traits  of  the  situation  in  which 
the  American  nation  was  born.  It  is  embodied  not  only 
in  popular  tradition,  and  party  creeds,  but  in  our  organic 
laws,  which  contain  many  provisions  expressly  calculated 
to  prevent  the  corporate  social  body  from  effecting  its 
ends  freely  and  easily  through  governmental  agencies.^ 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  movement  to  restrict  the 
functions  of  government,  the  laissez-faire  movement,  was 
in  its  time  an  important  step  in  human  freedom,  because 


*  Says  President  Hadley:  "The  fundamental  division  of  powers  in 
the  Constitution  of  the  IJnited  States  is  between  voters  on  the  one 
hand,  and  property-owners  on  the  other.  The  forces  of  democracy 
on  one  side,  divided  between  the  executive  and  the  legislature,  are  set 
over  against  the  forces  of  property  on  the  other  side,  with  the  ju- 
diciary as  arbiter  between  them.  .  .  .  The  voter  could  elect  what 
officers  he  pleased,  so  long  as  these  officers  did  not  try  to  do  certain 
duties  confided  by  the  Constitution  to  the  property-holders.  Democ- 
racy was  complete  as  far  as  it  went,  but  constitutionally  it  was 
bound  to  stop  short  of  social  democracy." 


476    CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

so  much  of  governmental  action  was  despotic  in  intention 
and  stupid  in  execution.  But  it  is  also  a  mistake  to  con- 
tinue to  think  of  a  government  which  is  only  the  people 
associated  for  the  assuring  of  their  own  ends  as  if  it 
were  the  same  sort  of  thing  as  a  government  which  repre- 
sented the  will  of  an  irresponsible  class.  The  advance 
of  means  of  publicity,  and  of  natural  and  social  science, 
provides  not  only  protection  against  ignorant  and  unwise 
public  action,  but  also  constructive  instrumentalities  of 
intelligent  administrative  activities.  One  of  the  chief 
moral  problems  of  the  present  day  is,  then,  that  of  mak- 
ing governmental  machinery  such  a  prompt  and  flexi- 
ble organ  for  expressing  the  common  interest  and  pur- 
pose as  will  do  away  with  that  distrust  of  government 
which  properly  must  endure  so  long  as  "government"  is 
something  imposed  from  above  and  exercised  from  without. 
2.  Indifference  to  Public  Concerns. — The  multiplica- 
tion of  private  interests  is  a  measure  of  social  progress: 
it  marks  the  multiplication  of  the  sources  and  ingredients 
of  happiness.  But  it  also  invites  neglect  of  the  funda- 
mental general  concerns  which,  seeming  very  remote,  get 
pushed  out  of  sight  by  the  pressure  of  the  nearer  and 
more  vivid  personal  interests.  The  great  majority  of  men 
have  their  thoughts  and  feelings  well  occupied  with  their 
family  and  business  affairs  ;  with  their  clubs  for  recreation, 
their  church  associations,  and  so  on.  "Politics"  becomes 
the  trade  of  a  class  which  is  especially  expert  in  the 
manipulation  of  their  fellows  and  skilled  in  the  "accelera- 
tion" of  public  opinion.  "Politics"  then  gets  a  bad 
name,  and  the  aloofness  from  public  matters  of  those  best 
fitted,  theoretically,  to  participate  in  them  is  further  pro- 
moted. The  saying  of  Plato,  twenty-five  hundred  years 
ago,  that  the  penalty  good  men  pay  for  not  being  inter- 
ested in  government  is  that  they  are  then  ruled  by  men 
worse  than  themselves,  is  verified  in  most  of  our  American 
cities. 


POLITICAL  RIGHTS  AND  OBLIGATIONS     477 

3.  Corruption. — This  indifFerence  of  the  many,  which 
throws  the  management  of  poHtical  affairs  into  the  hands 
of  a  few,  leads  inevitably  to  corruption.  At  the  best,  gov- 
ernment is  administered  by  human  beings  possessed  of 
ordinary  human  frailties  and  partialities ;  and,  at  the  best, 
therefore,  its  ideal  function  of  serving  impartially  the 
common  good  must  be  compromised  in  its  execution.  But 
the  control  of  the  inner  machinery  of  governmental  power 
by  a  few  who  can  work  in  irresponsible  secrecy  because  of 
the  indifference  and  even  contempt  of  the  many,  incites  to 
deliberate  perversion  of  public  functions  into  private  ad- 
vantages. As  embezzlement  is  appropriation  of  trust 
funds  to  private  ends,  so  corruption,  "graft,"  is  prostitu- 
tion of  public  resources,  whether  of  power  or  of  money, 
to  personal  or  class  interests.  That  a  "public  office  is  a 
public  trust"  is  at  once  an  axiom  of  political  ethics  and 
a  principle  most  difficult  to  realize. 

In  our  own  day,  a  special  field  has  been  opened  within 
which  corruption  may  flourish,  in  the  development  of  public 
utility  companies.  Railways,  city  transportation  systems, 
telegraph  and  telephone  systems,  the  distribution  of  water 
and  light,  require  public  franchises,  for  they  either  em- 
ploy public  highways  or  they  call  upon  the  State  to  exer- 
cise its  power  of  eminent  domain.  These  enterprises  can 
be  carried  on  efficiently  and  economically  only  as  they 
are  either  monopolies,  or  quasi-monopolies.  All  modern 
life,  however,  is  completely  bound  up  with  and  dependent 
upon  facilities  of  communication,  intercourse,  and  distri- 
bution. Power  to  control  the  various  public-service  cor- 
porations carries  with  it,  therefore,  power  to  control  and 
to  tax  all  industries,  power  to  build  up  and  cast  down 
communities,  companies,  and  individuals,  to  an  extent 
which  might  well  have  been  envied  by  royal  houses  of  the 
past.  It  becomes  then  a  very  special  object  for  great 
corporations  to  control  the  agencies  of  legislation  and 
administration;  and  it  becomes  a  very  special  object  for 


478     CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

party  leaders  and  bosses  to  get  control  of  party  machinery 
in  order  to  act  as  brokers  in  franchises  and  in  special 
favors — sometimes  directly  for  money,  sometimes  for  the 
perpetuation  and  extension  of  their  own  power  and  influ- 
ence, sometimes  for  the  success,  through  influential  sup- 
port and  contribution  to  party  funds,  of  the  national  party 
with  which  they  are  identified. 

4.  Reforms  in  Party  Machinery. — The  last  decade  or 
so  of  our  history  has  been  rife  with  schemes  to  improve 
political  conditions.  It  has  become  clear,  among  other 
things,  that  our  national  growth  has  carried  with  it  the 
development  of  secondary  political  agencies,  not  contem- 
plated by  the  f ramers  of  our  constitutions,  agencies  which 
have  become  primary  in  practical  matters.  These  agencies 
are  the  "machines"  of  political  parties,  with  their  hier- 
archical gradation  of  bosses  from  national  to  ward  rulers, 
bosses  who  are  in  close  touch  with  great  business  interests 
at  one  extreme,  and  with  those  who  pander  to  the  vices 
of  the  community  (gambling,  drink,  and  prostitution)  at 
the  other;  parties  with  their  committees,  conventions,  pri- 
maries, caucuses,  party-funds,  societies,  meetings,  and  all 
sorts  of  devices  for  holding  together  and  exciting  masses 
of  men  to  more  or  less  blind  acquiescence. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  point  out  the  advantages  which 
parties  have  subserved  in  concentrating  and  defining  public 
opinion  and  responsibility  in  large  issues;  nor  to  dwell 
upon  their  value  in  counteracting  tendencies  which  break 
up  and  divide  men  into  a  multitude  of  small  groups  having 
little  in  common  with  one  another.  But  behind  these  ad- 
vantages a  vast  number  of  abuses  have  sheltered  them- 
selves. Recent  legislation  and  recent  discussion  have  shown 
a  marked  tendency  formally  to  recognize  the  part  actually 
played  by  party  machinery  in  the  conduct  of  the  State, 
and  to  take  measures  to  make  this  factor  more  responsible 
in  its  exercise.  Since  these  measures  directly  affect  the 
conditions  under  which  the  government  as  the  organ  of 


POLITICAL  RIGHTS  AND  OBLIGATIONS     479 

the  general  will  does  its  work  of  securing  the  fundamental 
conditions  of  equal  opportunity  for  all,  they  have  a  direct 
moral  import.  Such  questions  as  the  Australian  ballot,  the 
recognition  of  party  emblems  and  party  groupings  of 
names ;  laws  for  direct  primary  nominations ;  the  register- 
ing of  voters  for  primary  as  well  as  for  final  elections ; 
legal  control  of  party  committees  and  party  conventions ; 
publicity  of  accounts  as  to  the  reception  and  use  of  party 
funds;  forbidding  of  contributions  by  corporations,  are 
thus  as  distinctly  moral  questions  as  are  bribery  and  ballot- 
box  stuffing. 

5.  Reforms  in  Governmental  Machinery. — Questions 
that  concern  the  respective  advantages  of  written  versus 
unwritten  constitutions  are  in  their  present  state  problems 
of  technical  political  science  rather  than  of  morals.  But 
there  are  problems,  growing  out  of  the  fact  that  for  the 
most  part  American  constitutions  were  written  and  adopted 
under  conditions  radically  unlike  those  of  the  present, 
which  have  a  direct  ethical  import.  As  already  noted,  our 
constitutions  are  full  of  evidences  of  distrust  of  popular 
cooperative  action.  They  did  not  and  could  not  foresee 
the  direction  of  industrial  development,  the  increased  com- 
plexity of  social  life,  nor  the  expansion  of  national  terri- 
tory. Many  measures  which  have  proved  indispensable 
have  had  therefore  to  be  as  it  were  smuggled  in;  they 
have  been  justified  by  "legal  fictions"  and  by  interpreta- 
tions which  have  stretched  the  original  text  to  uses  un- 
dreamed of.  At  the  same  time,  the  courts,  which  are  the 
most  technical  and  legal  of  our  political  organs,  are  su- 
preme masters  over  the  legislative  branch,  the  most  popu- 
lar and  general.  The  distribution  of  functions  between 
the  states  and  the  nation  is  curiously  ill-adapted  to  present 
conditions  (as  the  discussions  regarding  railway  regula- 
tion indicate) ;  and  the  distribution  of  powers  between 
the  state  and  its  municipalities  is  hardly  less  so,  resting  in 
theory  upon  the  idea  of  local  self-government,  and  in  prac- 


480     CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

tice  doing  almost  everything  possible  to  discourage  re- 
sponsible initiative  for  the  conduct  of  their  own  affairs  on 
the  part  of  municipalities. 

These  conditions  have  naturally  brought  forth  a  large 
crop  of  suggestions  for  reforms.  It  is  not  intended  to 
discuss  them  here,  but  the  more  important  of  them,  so  far 
as  involving  moral  questions,  may  be  briefly  noted.  The 
proposals  termed  the  initiative  and  the  referendum  and  the 
"recall"  (this  last  intended  to  enable  the  people  to  with- 
draw from  office  any  one  with  whose  conduct  of  affairs  they 
are  dissatisfied)  are  clearly  intended  to  make  the  ideal  of 
democratic  control  more  effective  in  practice.  Proposals 
for  limited  or  complete  woman's  suffrage  call  attention 
to  the  fact  that  one-half  of  the  citizenship  does  the  politi- 
cal thinking  for  the  other  half,  and  emphasizes  the  diffi- 
culty under  such  conditions  of  getting  a  comprehensive 
social  standpoint  (which,  as  we  have  already  seen,  is  the 
sympathetic  and  reasonable  standpoint)  from  which  to 
judge  social  issues.  Many  sporadic  propositions  from  this 
and  that  quarter  indicate  a  desire  to  revise  constitutions 
so  as  to  temper  their  cast-iron  quality  and  increase  their 
flexible  adaptation  to  the  present  popular  will,  and  so  as 
to  emancipate  local  communities  from  subjection  to  State 
legislatures  in  such  a  way  as  to  give  them  greater  au- 
tonomy and  hence  greater  responsibility,  in  the  manage- 
ment of  their  own  corporate  affairs.  It  is  not  the  argu- 
ments pro  and  con  that  we  are  here  concerned  with; 
but  we  are  interested  to  point  out  that  moral  issues  are 
involved  in  the  settlement  of  these  questions.  It  may, 
moreover,  be  noted  that  dividing  lines  in  the  discussion 
are  generally  drawn,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  on  the 
basis  of  the  degree  of  faith  which  exists  in  the  democratic 
principle  and  ideal,  as  against  the  class  idea  in  some 
of  its  many  forms. 

6.  Constructive  Social  Legislation. — The  rapid  change 
of  economic  methods,  the  accumulation  and  concentration 


POLITICAL  RIGHTS  AND  OBLIGATIONS     481 

of  wealth,  the  aggregation  of  capital  and  labor  into  dis- 
tinct bodies  of  corporations  and  trusts,  on  one  side,  and 
federated  labor  unions,  on  the  other;  the  development  of 
collective  agencies  of  production  and  distribution,  have 
brought  to  the  focus  of  public  attention  a  large  number 
of  proposals  for  new  legislation,  almost  all  of  which  have 
a  direct  moral  import.  These  matters  are  discussed  at 
length  in  subsequent  chapters  (chs.  xxii.-xxv.)  ;  and  so  are 
passed  over  here  with  the  reminder  that,  while  on  one  side 
they  are  questions  of  the  ethics  of  industry,  they  are 
also  questions  of  the  right  and  wrong  use  of  political  power 
and  authority.  We  may  also  note  that  the  theoretical 
principle  at  issue,  the  extension  versus  the  restriction  of 
governmental  agencies,  so  far  as  it  is  not  simply  a  ques- 
tion of  what  is  expedient  under  the  given  circumstances, 
is  essentially  a  question  of  a  generalized  versus  a  partial 
individualism.  The  democratic  movement  of  emancipation 
of  personal  capacities,  of  securing  to  each  individual 
an  effective  right  to  count  in  the  order  and  movement 
of  society  as  a  whole  (that  is,  in  the  common  good),  has 
gone  far  enough  to  secure  to  many,  more  favored  than 
others,  peculiar  powers  and  possessions.  It  is  part  of  the 
irony  of  the  situation  that  such  now  oppose  efforts  to  secure 
equality  of  opportunity  to  all  on  the  ground  that  these 
efforts  would  effect  an  invasion  of  individual  liberties  and 
rights:  i.e.,  of  privileges  based  on  inequality.  It  requires 
perhaps  a  peculiarly  sympathetic  imagination  to  see  that 
the  question  really  involved  is  not  one  of  magnifying  the 
powers  of  the  State  against  individuals,  but  is  one  of 
making  individual  liberty  a  more  extensive  and  equitable 
matter. 

7.  The  International  Problem. — The  development  of 
national  States  marks  a  tremendous  step  forward  in  the 
realization  of  the  principle  of  a  truly  inclusive  common 
good.  But  it  cannot  be  the  final  step.  Just  as  clans,  sects, 
gangs,  etc.,  are  intensely  sympathetic  within  and  intensely 


482    CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

exclusive  and  jealous  without,  so  States  are  still  arrayed 
against  States,  with  patriotism,  loyalty,  as  an  internal 
virtue,  and  the  distrust  and  hatred  of  divisive  hostility  as 
the  counterpart  vice.  The  idea  of  humanity  in  the  ab- 
stract has  been  attained  as  a  moral  ideal.  But  the  political 
organization  of  this  conception,  its  embodiment  in  law  and 
administrative  agencies,  has  not  been  achieved.  Interna- 
tional law,  arbitration  treaties,  and  even  a  court  like  the 
Hague  tribunal,  whose  power  is  sentimental  rather  than 
political,  mark  steps  forward.  Nothing  could  be  more 
absurd,  from  the  historic  point  of  view,  than  to  regard  the 
conception  of  an  international  State  of  federated  humanity, 
with  its  own  laws  and  its  own  courts  and  its  own  rules  for 
adjudicating  disputes,  as  a  mere  dream,  an  illusion  of 
sentimental  hope.  It  is  a  very  slight  step  to  take  forward 
compared  with  that  which  has  substituted  the  authority 
of  national  States  for  the  conflict  of  isolated  clans  and 
local  communities;  or  with  that  which  has  substituted  a 
publicly  administered  j  ustice  for  the  regime  of  private  war 
and  retaliation.  The  argument  for  the  necessity  (short 
of  the  attainment  of  a  federated  international  State  with 
universal  authority  and  policing  of  the  seas)  of  preparing 
in  peace  by  enlarged  armies  and  navies  for  the  possibility 
of  war,  must  be  offset  at  least  by  recognition  that  the 
possession  of  irresponsible  power  is  always  a  direct  tempta- 
tion to  its  irresponsible  use.  The  argument  that  war  is 
necessary  to  prevent  moral  degeneration  of  individuals 
may,  under  present  conditions,  where  every  day  brings 
its  fresh  challenge  to  civic  initiative,  courage,  and  vigor, 
be  dismissed  as  unmitigated  nonsense. 

§  4.    THE   MORAL   CRITERION   OF   POLITICAL  ACTIVITY 

The  moral  criterion  by  which  to  try  social  institutions 
and  political  measures  may  be  summed  up  as  follows :  The 
test  is  whether  a  given  custom  or  law  sets  free  individual 


CRITERION  OF  POLITICAL  ACTIVITY     483 

capacities  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  them  available  for  the 
development  of  the  general  happiness  or  the  common 
good.  This  formula  states  the  test  with  the  emphasis  fall- 
ing upon  the  side  of  the  individual.  It  may  be  stated  from 
the  side  of  associated  life  as  follows:  The  test  is  whether 
the  general,  the  public,  organization  and  order  are  pro- 
moted in  such  a  way  as  to  equalize  opportunity  for  all. 

Comparison  with  the  Individualistic  Formula. — The 
formula  of  the  individualistic  school  (in  the  narrow  sense 
of  that  term — the  laissez-faire  school)  reads:  The  moral 
end  of  political  institutions  and  measures  is  the  maximum 
possible  freedom  of  the  individual  consistent  with  his  not 
interfering  with  like  freedom  on  the  part  of  other  indi- 
viduals. It  is  quite  possible  to  interpret  this  formula 
in  such  a  way  as  to  make  it  equivalent  to  that  just  given. 
But  it  is  not  employed  in  that  sense  by  those  who  advance 
it.  An  illustration  will  bring  out  the  difference.  Imagine 
one  hundred  workingmen  banded  together  in  a  desire  to 
improve  their  standard  of  living  by  securing  higher 
wages,  shorter  hours,  and  more  sanitary  conditions  of 
work.  Imagine  one  hundred  other  men  who,  because  they 
have  no  families  to  support,  no  children  to  educate,  or 
because  they  do  not  care  about  their  standard  of  life, 
are  desirous  of  replacing  the  first  hundred  at  lower  wages, 
and  upon  conditions  generally  more  favorable  to  the 
employer  of  labor.  It  is  quite  clear  that  in  offering  them- 
selves and  crowding  out  the  others,  they  are  not  inter- 
fering with  the  like  freedom  on  the  part  of  others.  The 
men  already  engaged  are  "free"  to  work  for  lower  wages 
and  longer  time,  if  they  want  to.  But  it  is  equally  certain 
that  they  are  interfering  with  the  real  freedom  of  the 
others :  that  is,  with  the  effective  expression  of  their  whole 
body  of  activities. 

The  formula  of  "like  freedom"  artificially  isolates  some 
one  power,  takes  that  in  the  abstract,  and  then  inquires 
whether  it  is  interfered  with.     The  one  truly  moral  ques- 


484     CIVIL  SOCIETY  AND  POLITICAL  STATE 

tion  is  what  relation  this  particular  power,  say  the  power 
to  do  a  certain  work  for  a  certain  reward,  sustains  to  all  the 
other  desires,  purposes,  and  interests  of  the  individual.  How 
are  they  affected  by  the  way  in  which  some  one  activity  is 
exercised?  It  is  in  them  that  the  concrete  freedom  of 
the  man  resides.  We  do  not  know  whether  the  freedom  of 
a  man  is  interfered  with  or  is  assisted  until  we  have  taken 
into  account  his  whole  system  of  capacities  and  activities. 
The  maximum  freedom  of  one  individual  consistent  with 
equal  concrete  or  total  freedom  of  others,  would  indeed 
represent  a  high  moral  ideal.  But  the  individualistic 
formula  is  condemned  by  the  fact  that  it  has  in  mind 
only  an  abstract,  mechanical,  external,  and  hence  formal 
freedom. 

Comparison  with  the  Collectivistic  Formula. — There 
is  a  rival  formula  which  may  be  summed  up  as  the  sub- 
ordination of  private  or  individual  good  to  the  public  or 
general  good:  the  subordination  of  the  good  of  the  part 
to  the  good  of  the  whole.  This  notion  also  may  be  inter- 
preted in  a  way  which  renders  it  identical  with  our  own 
criterion.  But  it  is  usually  not  so  intended.  It  tends  to 
emphasize  quantitative  and  mechanical  considerations. 
The  individualistic  formula  tends  in  practice  to  emphasize 
the  freedom  of  the  man  who  has  power  at  the  expense  of 
his  neighbor  weaker  in  health,  in  intellectual  ability,  in 
worldly  goods,  and  in  social  influence.  The  collectivistic 
formula  tends  to  set  up  a  static  social  whole  and  to  pre- 
vent the  variations  of  individual  initiative  which  are  neces- 
sary to  progress.  An  individual  variation  may  involve 
opposition,  not  conformity  or  subordination,  to  the  exist- 
ing social  good  taken  statically ;  and  yet  may  be  the  sole 
means  by  which  the  existing  State  is  to  progress.  Minori- 
ties are  not  always  right ;  but  every  advance  in  right  be- 
gins in  a  minority  of  one,  when  some  individual  conceives 
a  project  which  is  at  variance  with  the  social  good  as  it 
has  been  established. 


CRITERION  OF  POLITICAL  ACTIVITY     485 

A  true  public  or  social  good  will  accordingly  not  sub- 
ordinate individual  variations,  but  will  encourage  indi- 
vidual experimentation  in  new  ideas  and  new  projects, 
endeavoring  only  to  see  that  they  are  put  into  execution 
under  conditions  which  make  for  securing  responsibility 
for  their  consequences.  A  just  social  order  promotes  in 
all  its  members  habits  of  criticizing  its  attained  goods  and 
habits  of  projecting  schemes  of  new  goods.  It  does  not 
aim  at  intellectual  and  moral  subordination.  Every  form 
of  social  life  contains  survivals  of  the  past  which  need  to 
be  reorganized.  The  struggle  of  some  individuals  against 
the  existing  subordination  of  their  good  to  the  good  of 
the  whole  is  the  method  of  the  reorganization  of  the  whole 
in  the  direction  of  a  more  generally  distributed  good.  Not 
order,  but  orderly  progress,  represents  the  social  ideal. 


LITERATURE 

Green,  Principles  of  Political  Obligation,  1888;  Ritchie,  Principles 
of  State  Interference,  1891,  Natural  Bights,  1895;  Lioy,  Philosophy 
of  Right,  2  vols.,  1901;  Willoughby,  An  Examination  of  the  Nature 
of  the  State,  1896;  Wilson,  The  State,  1889;  Donisthorpe,  Individual- 
ism, 1889;  Giddings,  Democracy  and  Empire,  1900;  Mulford,  The 
Nation,  1882;  Spencer,  Principles  of  Sociology,  Vol.  II.,  Part  V.,  1882, 
on  Political  Institutions;  Bentham,  Fragment  on  Government,  1776; 
Mill,  Considerations  on  Representative  Government,  1861,  On  Liberty, 
1859,  and  The  Subjection  of  Women,  1859;  Austin,  Jurisprudence, 
2  vols.,  4th  ed.,  1873;  Hadley,  The  Relations  between  Freedom  and 
Responsibility  in  the  Evolution  of  Democratic  Government,  1903;  Pol- 
lock, Expansion  of  the  Common  Law,  1904;  Hall,  Crime  in  Its  Rela- 
tions to  Social  Progress,  1901;  Philanthropy  and  Social  Progress, 
Seven  Essays,  1893;  Stephen  (J.  F.),  Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity, 
1873  (a  criticism  of  Mill's  Liberty);  Tufts,  Some  Contributions  of 
Psychology  to  the  Conception  of  Justice,  Philosophical  Review,  Vol. 
XV.,  p.  361. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

In  considering  the  ethics  of  the  economic  life  and  of 
property,  so  far  as  this  latter  topic  has  not  received  treat- 
ment elsewhere,  we  give  ( 1 )  a  general  analysis  of  the  ethi- 
cal questions  involved,  (2)  a  more  specific  account  of  the 
problems  raised  by  the  present  tendencies  of  industry,  busi- 
ness, and  property;  we  follow  these  analyses  with  (3)  a 
statement  of  principles,  and  (4)  a  discussion  of  unsettled 
problems. 

§  1.    GENEEAIi    ANALYSIS 

Both  the  economic  process  and  property  have  three 
distinct  ethical  aspects  corresponding  respectively  to  the 
ethical  standpoint  of  happiness,  character,  and  social 
justice.  (1)  The  economic  process  supplies  men  with 
goods  for  their  bodily  wants  and  with  many  of  the  neces- 
sary means  for  satisfying  intellectual,  aesthetic,  and  social 
needs ;  property  represents  permanence  and  security  in 
these  same  values.  (2)  Through  the  difficulties  it  presents, 
the  work  it  involves,  and  the  incitements  it  offers,  the  eco- 
nomic process  has  a  powerful  influence  in  evoking  skill, 
foresight,  and  scientific  control  of  nature,  in  forming  char- 
acter, and  stimulating  ambition  to  excel.  Property  means 
power,  control,  and  the  conditions  for  larger  freedom. 
(3)  The  economic  process  has  an  important  social  func- 
tion. Through  division  of  labor,  cooperation,  and  ex- 
change of  goods  and  services,  it  affords  one  of  the  funda- 
mental expressions   of  the  organic  nature  of  society  in 

486 


GENERAL  ANALYSIS  487 

which  members  are  reciprocally  ends  to  each  other.  Prop- 
erty, likewise,  is  not  only  a  possessing,  but  a  "right,"  and 
thus,  like  all  rights,  involves  the  questions  why  and  how  far 
society  should  support  the  individual  in  his  interests  and 
claims.     Let  us  examine  each  of  these  aspects  further. 

I.  The  Economic  in  Relation  to  Happiness — Subject 
to  the  important  qualifications  to  be  made  below  under 
this  and  the  succeeding  sections,  we  note  first  that  the 
supply  of  needs  and  wants  by  industry  and  commerce  is 
ethically  a  good.  A  constant  increase  in  production  and 
consumption  is  at  least  a  possible  factor  in  a  fuller  life. 
Wealth  is  a  possible  condition  of  weal,  even  if  it  is  not 
to  be  gratuitously  identified  with  it.  Rome  is  frequently 
cited  as  an  example  of  the  evil  effects  of  material  wealth. 
But  it  was  not  wealth  per  se,  but  wealth  (a)  gained  by 
conquest,  and  exploitation,  rather  than  by  industry;  (b) 
controlled  by  a  minority;  and  (c)  used  in  largesses  or  in 
crude  spectacles — rather  than  democratically  distributed 
and  used  to  minister  to  higher  wants.  The  present  aver- 
age income  in  the  United  States  is  about  two  hundred 
dollars  a  year  per  capita,  too  small  a  sum  to  permit 
comfortable  living,  sufficient  education  for  children,  and 
the  satisfaction  which  even  a  very  moderate  taste  may 
seek.  From  this  point  of  view  we  may  then  ask  of  any 
industrial  process  or  business  method  whether  it  is  an  eco- 
nomical and  efficient  method  of  production,  and  whether 
it  naturally  tends  to  stimulate  increased  production.  To 
do  this  is — so  far  as  it  goes — ethically  as  well  as  eco- 
nomically desirable. 

If  wealth  is  a  good,  it  might  seem  that  property  must 
be  judged  by  the  same  standard,  since  it  represents  se- 
curity in  the  satisfactions  which  wealth  aff^ords.  But 
there  is  an  important  distinction.  Wealth  means  enjoy- 
ment of  goods  and  satisfaction  of  wants.  Property  means 
the  title  to  the  exclusive  use  or  possession  of  goods.  Hence 
the  increase  of  property  may  involve  increasing  exclusion 


488        ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

of  part  of  the  community  from  wealth,  although  the  owners 
of  the  property  may  be  increasing  their  own  enjoyments. 
For,  as  pointed  out  very  forcibly  by  Hadley  in  the  first 
chapter  of  his  Economics,  the  public  wealth  of  a  com- 
munity is  by  no  means  equal  to  the  sum  of  its  private  prop- 
erty. If  all  parks  were  divided  up  into  private  estates, 
all  schoolhouses  controlled  by  private  owners,  all  water 
supplies  and  highways  given  into  private  control,  the  sum 
of  private  property  might  be  very  much  increased;  but 
the  public  wealth  would  be  decreased.  Property  is  one  of 
the  means  of  dealing  with  public  wealth.  It  is  important 
to  bear  in  mind,  however,  that  it  is  only  one  means.  Wealth 
may  be  (1)  privately  owned  and  privately  used;  (2)  pri- 
vately owned  and  publicly  or  commonly  used;  (3)  publicly 
owned,  but  privately  used;  (4)  publicly  owned  and  pub- 
licly or  commonly  used.  Illustrations  of  these  four  meth- 
ods are,  for  the  first,  among  practically  all  peoples,  clothing 
and  tools ;  of  the  second,  a  private  estate  opened  to  public 
use — as  a  park;  of  the  third,  public  lands  or  franchises 
leased  to  individuals;  of  the  fourth,  public  highways, 
parks,  navigable  rivers,  public  libraries.!  Whether  prop- 
erty in  any  given  case  is  a  means  to  happiness  will  depend, 
then,  largely  upon  whether  it  operates  chiefly  to  in- 
crease wealth  or  to  diminish  it.  '  The  view  has  not  been 
infrequent  that  the  wealth  of  the  community  is  the  sum 
of  its  private  property.  From  this  it  is  but  a  step  to 
believe  "that  the  acquisition  of  property  is  the  production 
of  wealth,  and  that  he  best  serves  the  common  good  who, 
other  things  equal,  diverts  the  larger  share  of  the  aggre- 
gate wealth  to  his  own  possession."  ^  The  ethical  questions 
as  to  the  relation  of  property  to  happiness  involve  accord- 
ingly the  problem  of  justice  and  can  be  more  conveniently 
considered  under  that  head. 

2.  Relation  to  Character. — Even  in  its  aspect  of  satisfy- 
ing human  wants,  quantity  of  production  is  not  the  only 
^  Veblen,  Theory  of  Business  Enterprise,  p.  291. 


GENERAL  ANALYSIS  489 

consideration.  As  was  pointed  out  in  the  chapters  on  Hap- 
piness, the  satisfaction  of  any  and  every  want  is  not 
necessarily  a  moral  good.  It  depends  upon  the  nature  of 
the  wants ;  and  as  the  nature  of  the  wants  reflects  the 
nature  of  the  man  who  wants,  the  moral  value  of  the  eco- 
nomic process  and  of  the  wealth  it  provides  must  depend 
upon  the  relation  of  goods  to  persons.  As  economists  we 
estimate  values  in  terms  of  external  goods  or  commodities ; 
as  ethical  students  we  estimate  values  in  terms  of  a  certain 
quality  of  life.  We  must  ask  first  how  the  satisfaction  of 
wants  affects  the  consumers. 

Moral  Cost  of  Production. — Consider  next  the  pro- 
ducers. It  is  desirable  to  have  cheap  goods,  but  the 
price  o?  goods  or  service  is  not  measurable  solely  in 
terms  of  other  commodities  or  service;  the  price  of  an 
article  is  also,  as  Thoreau  has  said,  what  it  costs  in 
terms  of  human  life.  There  is  cheap  production  which 
by  this  standard  is  dear.  The  introduction  of  machinery 
for  spinning  and  weaving  cotton  cheapened  cotton  cloth, 
but  the  child  labor  which  was  supposedly  necessary  as  a 
factor  in  cheap  production,  involving  disease,  physical 
stunting,  ignorance,  and  frequently  premature  exhaustion 
or  death,  made  the  product  too  expensive  to  be  tolerated. 
At  least,  it  was  at  last  recognized  as  too  expensive  in 
England ;  apparently  the  calculation  has  to  be  made  over 
again  in  every  community  where  a  new  system  of  child 
labor  is  introduced.  What  is  true  of  child  labor  is  true 
of  many  other  forms  of  modern  industry — the  price  in 
human  life  makes  the  product  dear.  The  minute  subdivi- 
sion of  certain  parts  of  industry  with  the  consequent  mo- 
notony and  mechanical  quality  of  the  labor,  the  accidents 
and  diseases  due  to  certain  occupations,  the  devices  to 
cheapen  goods  by  ingredients  which  injure  the  health  of 
the  consumer,  the  employment  of  women  under  unsani- 
tary conditions  and  for  excessive  hours  with  consequent 
risk  to  the  health  of  themselves  and  their  off^spring — all 


490        ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

these  are  part  of  the  moral  price  of  the  present  processes 
of  industry  and  commerce. 

Moreover,  the  relation  of  production  to  physical  welfare 
is  only  one  aspect  of  its  effects  upon  life  and  character. 
We  may  properly  ask  of  any  process  or  system  whether 
it  quickens  intelligence  or  deadens  it,  whether  it  neces- 
sitates the  degradation  of  work  to  drudgery,  and  whether 
it  promotes  freedom  or  hamper;s  it.  To  answer  this  last 
question  we  shall  have  to  distinguish  formal  from  real 
freedom.  It  might  be  that  a  system  favorable  to  the 
utmost  formal  freedom — freedom  of  contract — would  re- 
sult in  the  most  entire  absence  of  that  real  freedom  which 
implies  real  alternatives.  If  the  only  alternative  is,  this  or 
starve,  the  real  freedom  is  limited. 

Property  and  Character. — Viewed  on  its  positive  side, 
property  means  an  expansion  of  power  and  freedom. 
To  seize,  master,  and  possess  is  an  instinct  inbred  by 
the  biological  process.  It  is  necessary  for  life;  it  is  a 
form  of  the  Wille  zum  Lehen  or  Wille  zur  Macht  which 
need  not  be  despised.  But  in  organized  society  pos- 
session is  no  longer  mere  animal  instinct;  through  ex- 
pression in  a  social  medium  and  by  a  social  person  it 
becomes  a  right  of  property.  This  is  a  far  higher  ca- 
pacity; like  all  rights  it  involves  the  assertion  of  per- 
sonality and  of  a  rational  claim  upon  fellow  members  of 
society  for  their  recognition  and  backing.  Fichte's  doc- 
trine, that  property  is  essential  to  the  effective  exercise 
of  freedom,  is  a  strong  statement  of  its  moral  importance 
to  the  individual. 

Over  against  these  positive  values  of  property  are  cer- 
tain evils  which  moralists  have  always  recognized,  evils 
both  to  the  property  owner  and  to  society.  Avarice,  cov- 
etousness,  hardness  toward  others,  seem  to  be  the  natural 
effects  of  the  enormous  possibilities  of  power  offered 
by  property,  joined  with  its  exclusive  character.  The 
prophets  of  Israel  denounced  the  rich,  and  Jesus's  image 


GENERAL  ANALYSIS  491 

of  the  difficulty  found  by  the  rich  man  in  entering  the 
kingdom  of  God — a  moral  society — has  met  general  ac- 
ceptance. Plato's  portrayal  of  the  State  in  which  the 
wealthy  rule  sketches  the  perversion  and  disobedience  of 
laws,  the  jealousies  and  class  hatred,  the  evasion  of  taxes 
for  public  defense,  and  gives  the  moral  outcome: — 

"And  henceforth  they  press  forward  on  the  path  of  money- 
getting,  losing  their  esteem  for  virtue  as  the  esteem  for  wealth 
grows  upon  them.  For  can  you  deny  that  there  is  such  a 
gulf  between  wealth  and  virtue,  that  when  weighed  as  it 
were  in  the  two  scales  of  a  balance  one  of  the  two  always 
falls,  as  the  other  rises .''"  ^ 

Even  apart  from  questions  of  just  distribution,  the 
moral  question  arises  as  to  whether  an  unlimited  power 
should  be  given  to  individuals  in  this  form,  and  whether 
there  should  be  unlimited  right  of  inheritance.  But  all 
these  tend  to  pass  over  at  once  into  questions  of  justice. 

3.  Social  Aspects. — The  various  relations  of  man  to 
man,  political,  friendly,  kindred,  are  developed  forms 
of  the  interdependence  implicit  in  the  early  group  life. 
A  group  of  units,  each  independent  of  the  others,  would 
represent  mass  only,  but  such  a  group  as  is  made  up  of 
men,  women,  and  children,  sustaining  all  the  relations 
found  in  present  human  life,  represents  something  vastly 
more  than  a  mass  of  individuals.  Every  life  draws  from 
the  rest.  Man  without  friendship,  love,  pity,  sympathy, 
communication,  cooperation,  justice,  rights,  or  duties, 
would  be  deprived  of  nearly  all  that  gives  life  its  value. 

The  necessary  help  from  others  is  obtained  in  various 
ways.  Parental,  filial,  and  other  kinship  ties,  friendship 
and  pity,  give  rise  to  certain  services,  but  they  are  neces- 
sarily limited  in  their  sphere  and  exact  in  return  a  special 
attitude  that  would  be  intolerable  if  made  universal.  The 
modern  man  does  not  want  to  be  cousin  to  every  one,  to 
give  every  one  his  personal  friendship,  to  be  in  a  per- 
petual attitude  of  receiving  favors,  or  of  asking  and  not 

^Republic,  550.    Davies  and  Vaughan. 


492        ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

receiving.  Formerly  the  way  of  getting  service  from  men 
outside  these  means  was  by  slavery.  The  economic  rela- 
tion provides  for  the  mutual  exchange  of  goods  and 
services  on  a  basis  of  self-respect  and  equality.  Through 
its  system  of  contracts  it  provides  for  future  as  well  as 
present  service.  It  enables  each  to  obtain  the  services 
of  all  the  rest,  and  in  turn  to  contribute  without  incurring 
any  other  claims  or  relations.  Nor  does  it  at  all  diminish 
the  moral  value  of  these  mutual  exchanges  of  goods  and 
services  that  they  may  be  paid  for.  It  used  to  be  the 
theory  that  in  every  bargain  one  party  gained  and  the 
other  lost.  It  is  now  recognized  that  a  normal  transaction 
benefits  both  parties.  The  "cash  payment  basis,"  which 
was  at  first  denounced  as  substituting  a  mechanical  nexus 
for  the  old  personal  tie,  is  in  reality  a  means  for  estab- 
lishing a  greater  independence  instead  of  the  older  per- 
sonal relation  of  "master"  and  "servant."  It  enabled 
a  man,  as  Toynbee  puts  it,  to  sell  his  labor  like  any  other 
commodity  without  selling  himself. 

But  while  the  economic  process  has  these  moral  possi- 
bilities, the  morality  of  any  given  system  or  practice  will 
depend  on  how  far  these  are  actually  realized. 

First  of  all,  we  may  fairly  ask  of  a  process.  Does  it 
give  to  each  member  the  kind  of  service  needed  by  him.'' 
In  economic  terms.  Does  it  produce  the  kinds  of  goods 
which  society  needs  and  desires.?  A  method  which  pro- 
vides for  this  successfully  will  in  so  far  be  providing 
against  scarcity  of  some  goods  and  oversupply  of  others, 
and  thus  against  one  of  the  sources  of  crises,  irregularity 
of  work  and  wages,  and  ultimately  against  suffering  and 
want. 

Secondly,  if  the  process  is  an  expression  of  the  mutual 
dependence  and  service  of  members  who  as  persons  all  have, 
as  Kant  puts  it,  intrinsic  worth,  and  who  in  our  political 
society  are  recognized  as  equal,  we  may  fairly  ask  how 
it    distributes    the    results    of    services    rendered.      Does 


GENERAL  ANALYSIS  493 

the  process  tend  to  a  broad  and  general  distribution  of 
goods  in  return  for  services  rendered,  or  to  make  "the 
rich  richer  and  the  poor  poorer?"  Or,  from  another 
point  of  view,  we  might  ask.  Does  the  process  tend  to 
reward  members  on  a  moral  or  equitable  basis,  or  upon  a 
basis  which  is  non-moral  if  not  immoral  or  unjust. 

Thirdly,  the  problem  of  conflicting  services  presents 
itself  under  several  forms.  There  is,  first,  the  ever-present 
conflict  between  producer  and  consumer.  Higher  wages 
and  shorter  hours  are  good  for  the  carpenter  or  the 
weaver,  until  he  pays  his  rent  or  buys  clothes,  when  he  is 
interested  in  cheaper  goods.  What  principle  can  be  em- 
ployed to  adjust  such  a  question.'^  Again,  service  to  the 
consumer  may  lead  a  producer  to  a  price-list  implying  a" 
minimum  of  profits.  One  producer  can  afford  this  be- 
cause of  his  larger  business,  but  it  will  drive  his  com- 
petitor from  the  field.  Shall  he  agree  to  a  higher  price 
at  which  all  can  do  business,  or  insist  on  the  lower  which 
benefits  the  consumer  and  also  himself?  The  labor  union 
is  a  constant  embodiment  of  the  problem  of  conflicting 
services.  How  far  shall  it  serve  a  limited  group,  the 
union,  at  the  expense  of  other  workers  in  the  same  trade — 
non-unionists  ?  Does  it  make  a  difference  whether  the  union 
is  open  to  all,  or  whether  the  dues  are  fixed  so  high  as  to 
limit  the  membership?  Shall  the  apprentices  be  limited  to 
keep  up  the  wage  by  limiting  the  supply?  If  so,  is  this 
fair  to  the  boys  or  unskilled  laborers  who  would  like  to 
enter?  And  granting  that  it  is  a  hardship  to  these,  is 
it  harder  or  is  it  kinder  to  them  than  it  would  be  to  leave 
the  issue  to  the  natural  weeding-out  or  starving-out 
procedure  of  natural  selection  in  case  too  many  enter 
the  trade?  Shall  the  hours  be  reduced  and  wages  raised 
as  high  as  possible,  or  is  there  a  "fair"  standard — fair  to 
both  consumer  and  laborer?  How  far  may  the  union 
combine  with  the  capitalist  to  raise  prices  to  the 
consumer? 


494        ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

Private  Property  and  Social  Welfare. — The  social  value 
of  property  is  obviously  indirect,  just  as  in  law,  private 
rights  are  regarded  as  indirectly  based  on  social  welfare. 
It  is  society's  aim  to  promote  the  worth  of  its  members  and 
to  favor  the  development  of  their  personal  dignity  and 
freedom.  Property  may,  therefore,  claim  social  value  in 
so  far  as  it  serves  these  ends,  unless  it  interferes  with 
other  social  values.  The  effect  of  private  property  has 
seemed  to  some  disastrous  to  community  of  interest  and 
feeling.  Plato,  for  example,  in  his  ideal  state  would 
permit  his  guardians  no  private  property.  There  would, 
then,  be  no  quarrels  over  "meum"  and  "tuum,"  no  suits  or 
divisions,  no  petty  meanness  or  anxieties,  no  plundering 
of  fellow-citizens,  no  flattery  of  rich  by  poor.  The  medi- 
aeval church  carried  out  his  theory.  Even  modern 
society  preserves  a  certain  trace  of  its  spirit.  For  the 
classes  that  Plato  called  guardians — soldiers,  judges, 
clergy,  teachers — have  virtually  no  property,  although 
they  are  given  support  by  society.  It  would  probably 
be  generally  agreed  that  it  is  better  for  the  public  that 
these  classes  should  not  have  large  possessions.  But  it 
is  obvious  that  private  property  is  not  the  sole  cause  of 
division  between  individuals  and  classes.  Where  there  is 
a  deep-going  unity  of  purpose  and  feeling,  as  in  the  early 
Christian  community,  or  in  various  other  companies  that 
have  attempted  to  practice  communism,  common  ownership 
of  wealth  may  be  morally  valuable  as  well  as  practically 
possible.  But  without  such  unity,  mere  abolition  of  prop- 
erty is  likely  to  mean  more  bitter  divisions,  because  there 
is  no  available  method  for  giving  to  each  the  independ- 
ence which  is  necessary  to  avoid  friction  and  promote 
happiness. 

Granting,  however,  the  general  position  that  some 
parts  of  wealth  should  be  privately  owned,  we  must  recog- 
nize that  a  great  number  of  moral  problems  remain  as 
to  the  precise  conditions  under  which  society  will  find  it 


PROBLEMS  SET  BY  THE  NEW  ORDER       495 

wise  to  entrust  the  control  of  wealth  to  private  ownership. 
For  it  must  be  clearly  kept  in  mind  that  there  is  no  abso- 
lute right  of  private  property.  Every  right,  legal  or 
moral,  derives  from  the  social  whole,  which  in  turn,  if  it 
is  a  moral  whole,  must  respect  the  individuality  of  each 
of  its  members.  On  this  basis  moral  problems,  such  as  the 
following,  must  be  considered.  What  kind  of  pubKc 
wealth  should  be  given  into  absolute  control  of  private 
individuals  or  impersonal  corporations  .f*  Does  the  in- 
stitution in  its  present  form  promote  the  good  of  those 
who  have  no  property  as  well  as  of  those  who  have  it,  or 
only  of  those  who  own.?  Would  the  welfare  of  society  as 
a  whole  be  promoted  by  giving  a  larger  portion  of  public 
wealth  into  private  control,  or  by  retaining  a  larger  pro- 
portion than  at  present  under  public  ownership.?  Should 
there  be  any  limit  to  the  amount  of  land  or  other  property 
which  an  individual  or  corporation  may  own?  Are  there 
any  cases  in  which  private  ownership  operates  rather  to 
exclude  the  mass  of  society  from  the  benefits  of  civilization 
than  to  give  them  a  share  of  those  benefits.?  Should  a  man 
be  allowed  to  transmit  all  his  property  to  his  heirs,  or 
should  it  be  in  part  reserved  by  society.? 

The  preceding  analysis  has  aimed  to  state  some  of  the 
problems  which  belong  necessarily  to  the  economic  life. 
At  the  present  time,  however,  the  moral  issues  assume  a 
new  and  puzzling  aspect  because  of  the  changes  in  eco- 
nomic conditions.  It  will  be  necessary  to  consider  briefly 
these  changed  conditions. 

§  2.    THE  PROBLEMS  SET  BY  THE  NEW  ECONOMIC  OEDEE 

The  Collective  and  Impersonal  Organizations. — Two 
changes  have  come  over  a  large  part  of  the  economic  and 
industrial  field.  The  first  is  the  change  from  an  indi- 
vidual to  a  collective  basis.  The  second,  which  is  in  part 
a  consequence  of  the  first,  is  a  change  from  personal  to 


496        ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

impersonal  or  corporate  relations.  Corporations  are  of 
course  composed  of  persons,  but  when  organized  for  eco- 
nomic purposes  they  tend  to  become  simply  economic 
purpose  incorporate,  abstracted  from  all  other  human 
qualities.  Although  legally  they  may  be  subjects  of  rights 
and  duties,  they  have  but  one  motive,  and  are  thus  so 
abstract  as  to  be  morally  impersonal.  They  tend  to  be- 
come machines  for  carrying  on  business,  and,  as  such,  may 
be  as  powerful — and  as  incapable  of  moral  considera- 
tions— as  other  machines. 

Ethical  Readjustment.  —  Both  these  changes  require 
readjustment  of  our  ethical  conceptions.  Our  conceptions 
of  honesty  and  justice,  of  rights  and  duties,  got  their  pres- 
ent shaping  largely  in  an  industrial  and  business  order 
when  mine  and  thine  could  be  easily  distinguished ;  when  it 
was  easy  to  tell  how  much  a  man  produced ;  when  the  pro- 
ducer sold  to  his  neighbors,  and  an  employer  had  also 
the  relations  of  neighbor  to  his  workmen;  when  responsi- 
bility could  be  personally  located,  and  conversely  a  man 
could  control  the  business  he  owned  or  make  individual 
contracts ;  when  each  man  had  his  own  means  of  lighting, 
heating,  water  supply,  and  frequently  of  transportation, 
giving  no  opportunity  or  necessity  for  public  service  cor- 
porations. Such  conceptions  are  inadequate  for  the  pres- 
ent order.  The  old  honesty  could  assume  that  goods  be- 
longed to  their  makers,  and  then  consider  exchanges  and 
contracts.  The  new  honesty  will  first  have  to  face  a  prior 
question.  Who  owns  what  is  collectively  produced,  and  are 
the  present  "rules  of  the  game"  distributing  the  returns 
honestly  and  fairly.'^  The  old  justice  in  the  economic 
field  consisted  chiefly  in  securing  to  each  individual  his 
rights  in  property  or  contracts.  The  new  justice  must 
consider  how  it  can  secure  for  each  individual  a  standard 
of  living,  and  such  a  share  in  the  values  of  civilization  as 
shall  make  possible  a  full  moral  life.  The  old  virtue 
allowed   a  man  to  act  more   as   an   individual;   the  new 


CORPORATIONS  AND  UNIONS  497 

virtue  requires  him  to  act  in  concerted  effort  if  he  is  to 
achieve  results.  Individualist  theories  cannot  interpret 
collectivist  facts. 

The  changes  in  the  economic  and  industrial  processes  by 
which  not  only  the  associated  powers  of  present  human 
knowledge,  skill,  and  endurance,  but  also  the  combined  re- 
sults of  past  and  future  skill  and  industry  are  massed 
and  wielded,  depend  on  several  concurrent  factors.  We 
shall  notice  the  social  agency,  the  technique  of  industry, 
the  technique  of  business,  the  means  of  fixing  value,  and 
the  nature  of  property. 

§  3.    THE  AGENCIES  FOR   CARUYING  ON  COMMERCE  AND 
INDUSTRY 

Early  Agencies. — The  early  agencies  for  carrying  on 
trade  and  industry  were  not  organized  purely  for  economic 
purposes.  The  kindred  or  family  group  engaged  in  cer- 
tain industries,  but  this  was  only  part  of  its  purpose. 
So  in  the  various  territorial  groups.  The  Athenian  city- 
state  owned  the  mines ;  the  German  village  had  its  forest, 
meadow,  and  water  as  a  common  possession ;  and  the  "com- 
mon" survived  long  in  English  and  American  custom, 
though  the  cattle  pastured  on  it  might  be  individually 
owned.  In  the  United  States  certain  land  was  reserved  for 
school  purposes,  and  if  retained  would  now  in  some  cases 
be  yielding  an  almost  incredible  amount  for  public  use; 
but  it  has  usually  been  sold  to  private  individuals.  The 
national  government  still  retains  certain  land  for  forest 
reserve,  but  until  the  recent  movement  toward  municipal 
ownership,  the  civic  community  had  almost  ceased  to  be 
an  economic  factor  in  England  and  America,  except  in  the 
field  of  roads,  canals,  and  the  postoffice.  In  both  family 
and  territorial  or  community  control  of  industry,  we  have 
the  economic  function  exercised  as  only  one  among  several 
others.    The  economic  helped  to  strengthen  the  other  bonds 


498        ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

of  unity.  On  the  other  hand,  the  economic  motive  could 
not  disentangle  itself  and  stand  out  in  all  its  naked  force. 
Within  either  family  or  civic  group  the  effects  of  the  ac- 
quisitive instincts  were  limited  by  the  fact  that  individuals 
in  their  industrial  relations  were  also  kin  or  neighbors. 

The  Business  Enterprise. — In  the  business  enterprise — 
partnership,  company,  corporation,  "trust,"  —  on  the 
other  hand,  men  are  organized  solely  for  economic  pur- 
poses. No  other  interests  or  ends  are  regarded.  Cor- 
porations organized  for  this  purpose  "have  no  souls,"  be- 
cause they  consist  of  merely  the  abstract  economic  inter- 
ests. While  in  domestic  and  territorial  agencies  the 
acquisitive  forces  were  to  some  degree  beneficially  con- 
trolled, they  were  also  injuriously  hampered.  With  the 
rise  of  business  enterprise  as  a  distinct  sphere  of  human 
action,  the  way  was  opened  for  a  new  force  to  manifest 
itself.  This  brought  with  it  both  advantages  and  dis- 
advantages for  the  moral  and  social  life  as  a  whole.  On 
the  one  hand,  it  increased  tremendously  the  possibilities 
of  economic  and  industrial  efficiency.  The  size  of  the  en- 
terprise could  be  as  large  or  as  small  as  was  needed  for 
the  most  efficient  production,  and  was  not,  as  in  family 
or  community  agency,  sometimes  too  small  and  sometimes 
too  large.  The  enterprise  could  group  men  according  to 
their  capacity  for  a  particular  task,  and  not,  as  in  the 
other  forms,  be  compelled  to  take  a  group  already  consti- 
tuted by  other  than  economic  or  industrial  causes.  Further, 
it  could  without  difficulty  dispense  with  the  aged  or  those 
otherwise  unsuited  to  its  purposes.  When,  moreover, 
as  is  coming  to  be  increasingly  the  case,  great  corpora- 
tions, each  controlling  scores  or  even  hundreds  of  millions 
of  capital,  are  linked  together  in  common  control,  we  have 
a  tremendous  force  which  may  be  wielded  as  a  unit.  It  is 
easy  to  assume — indeed  it  is  difficult  for  managers  not 
to  assume — that  the  interests  of  such  colossal  organiza- 
tions  are  of   supreme  importance,   and   that   diplomacy, 


CORPORATIONS  AND  UNIONS  499 

tariffs,  legislation,  and  courts  should  be  subordinate.  The 
moral  dangers  attaching  to  such  corporations  formed 
solely  for  economic  purposes  are  obvious,  and  have  found 
frequent  illustration  in  their  actual  workings.  Knowing 
few  or  none  of  the  restraints  which  control  an  individual, 
the  corporation  has  treated  competitors,  employees,  and 
the  public  in  a  purely  economic  fashion.  This  insures 
certain  limited  species  of  honesty,  but  does  not  include 
motives  of  private  sympathy  or  public  duty. 

The  Labor  Union.  —  Correlative  to  these  corporate 
combinations  of  capital  are  Labor  Unions  of  various  types. 
They  are  usually  when  first  organized  more  complex  in  mo- 
tive, including  social  and  educational  ends,  and  are  more 
emotional,  or  even  passionate  in  conduct.  With  age  they 
tend  to  become  more  purely  economic.  In  the  United  States 
they  have  sought  to  secure  better  wages,  to  provide  bene- 
fits or  insurance  in  case  of  sickness  and  death,  and  to  gain 
better  conditions  in  respect  of  hours,  of  child-labor,  and  of 
protection  against  dangerous  machinery,  explosions,  and 
occupational  diseases.  In  Great  Britain  they  have  also 
been  successful  in  applying  the  cooperative  plan  to  the  pur- 
chase of  goods  for  consumption.  The  organizations  have 
been  most  successful  among  the  skilled  trades.  For  so  far 
as  the  aim  is  collective  bargaining,  it  is  evident  that  the 
union  will  be  effective  in  proportion  as  it  controls  the  whole 
supply  of  labor  in  the  given  trade.  In  the  unskilled  forms 
of  labor,  especially  with  a  constant  flow  of  immigration, 
it  is  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  maintain  organizations 
comparable  with  the  organizations  of  capital.  Hence  in 
conflicts  it  is  natural  to  expect  the  moral  situations  which 
frequently  occur  when  grossly  unequal  combatants  are  op- 
posed. The  stronger  has  contempt  for  the  weaker  and  re- 
fuses to  "recognize"  his  existence.  The  weaker,  rendered 
desperate  by  the  hopelessness  of  his  case  when  he  contends 
under  rules  and  with  weapons  prescribed  by  the  stronger, 
refuses  to  abide  by  the  rules  and  resorts  to  violence — only 


500        ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

to  find  that  by  this  he  has  set  himself  in  opposition  to  all 
the  forces  of  organized  society. 

Group  Morality  Again. — The  striking  feature  of  the 
new  conditions  is  that  it  means  a  reversion  to  group  moral- 
ity. That  is,  it  has  meant  this  so  far.  Society  is  strug- 
gling to  reassert  a  general  moral  standard,  but  it  has  not 
yet  found  a  standard,  and  has  wavered  between  a  rigid  in- 
sistence upon  outgrown  laws  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  more 
or  less  emotional  and  unreasoned  sympathy  with  new  de- 
mands, upon  the  other.^  Group  morality  meant  imper- 
sonal, collective  life.  It  meant  loyalty  to  one's  own  group, 
little  regard  for  others,  lack  of  responsibility,  and  lack  of  a 
completely  social  standard.  There  is,  of  course,  one  impor- 
tant difference.  The  present  collective,  impersonal  agen- 
cies are  not  so  naive  as  the  old  kinship  group.  They  can 
be  used  as  effective  agencies  to  secure  definite  ends,  while 
the  manipulators  secure  all  the  advantages  of  the  old 
solidarity  and  irresponsibility. 

Members  and  Management.^The  corporation  in  its  idea 
is  democratic.  For  it  provides  for  the  union  of  a  number 
of  owners,  some  of  them  it  may  be  small  owners,  under  an 
elected  management.  It  would  seem  to  be  an  admirable 
device  for  maintaining  concentration  of  power  with  distri- 
bution of  ownership.  But  the  very  size  of  modern  enter- 
prises and  unions  prevents  direct  control  by  stockholders 
or  members.  They  may  dislike  a  given  policy,  but  they  are 
individually  helpless.  If  they  attempt  to  control,  it  is  al- 
most impossible,  except  in  an  extraordinary  crisis,  to  unite 
a  majority  for  common  action.^  The  directors  can  carry 
on  a  policy  and  at  the  same  time  claim  to  be  only  agents  of 
the  stockholders,  and  therefore  not  ultimately  responsible. 
What  influence  can  the  small  shareholders  in  a  railway 

*  E.g.,  in  a  strike  there  is  sometimes  a  toleration  by  public  sen- 
timent of  a  certain  amount  of  violence  where  it  is  believed  that  there 
is  no  legal  remedy  for  unfair  conditions. 

*  Recent  elections  in  the  great  insurance  companies  have  shown 
this. 


CORPORATIONS  AND  UNIONS  501 

company,  or  a  great  industrial  corporation,  or  labor  union, 
have?  They  unite  with  ease  upon  one  point  only:  they 
want  dividends  or  results.  When  an  illegal  policy  is  to 
be  pursued,  or  a  legislature  or  jury  is  to  be  bribed,  or  a 
non-union  man  is  to  be  "dealt  with,"  the  head  officials  like- 
wise seek  only  "results."  They  turn  over  the  responsibility 
to  the  operating  or  "legal"  department,  or  to  the  "educa- 
tional committee,"  and  know  nothing  further.  These  de- 
partments are  "agents"  for  the  stockholders  or  union,  and 
therefore,  feel  quite  at  ease.  The  stockholders  are  sure 
they  never  authorized  anything  wrong.  Some  corporations 
are  managed  for  the  interest  of  a  large  number  of  owners ; 
some,  on  the  other  hand,  by  ingenious  contracts  with  side 
corporations  formed  from  an  inner  circle,  are  managed  for 
the  benefit  of  this  inner  circle.  The  tendency,  moreover,  in 
the  great  corporations  is  toward  a  situation  in  which 
boards  of  directors  of  the  great  railroad,  banking,  insur- 
ance, and  industrial  concerns  are  made  up  of  the  same 
limited  group  of  men.  This  aggregate  property  may  then 
be  wielded  as  absolutely  as  though  owned  by  these  individ- 
uals. If  it  is  used  to  carry  a  political  election  the  direct- 
ors, according  to  New  York  courts,  are  not  culpable. 

Employer  and  Employed. — The  same  impersonal  rela- 
tion often  prevails  between  employer  and  employed.  The 
ultimate  employer  is  the  stockholder,  but  he  delegates 
power  to  the  director,  and  he  to  the  president,  and  he  to 
the  foreman.  Each  is  expected  to  get  results.  The  em- 
ployed may  complain  about  conditions  to  the  president, 
and  be  told  that  he  cannot  interfere  with  the  foreman,  and 
to  the  foreman  and  be  told  that  such  is  the  policy  of  the 
company.  The  union  may  serve  as  a  similar  buffer.  Often 
any  individual  of  the  series  would  act  humanely  or  gener- 
ously, if  he  were  acting  for  himself.  He  cannot  be  humane 
or  generous  with  the  property  of  others,  and  hence  there 
is  no  humanity  or  generosity  in  the  whole  system.  This 
system  seems  to  have  reached  its  extreme  in  the  creation  of 


502        ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

corporations  for  the  express  purpose  of  relieving  employ- 
ers of  any  personal  responsibilitity.  Companies  organized 
to  insure  employers  against  claims  made  by  employees  on 
account  of  injuries  may  be  regarded  as  a  device  for  dis- 
tributing the  burden.  But  as  the  company  is  organized, 
not  primarily  to  pay  damages,  as  are  life  insurance  com-» 
panics,  but  to  avoid  such  payment,  it  has  a  powerful  mo- 
tive in  contesting  every  claim,  however  just,  and  in  making 
it  so  expensive  to  prosecute  a  claim  that  the  victims  may 
prefer  not  to  make  the  attempt.  The  "law's  delay"  can 
nearly  always  be  counted  upon  as  a  powerful  defense  when 
a  poor  man  is  plaintiff  and  a  rich  corporation  is  defendant. 
Relations  to  the  Public. — The  relations  of  corporations 
to  the  public,  and  of  the  public  to  corporations,  are  simi- 
larly impersonal  and  non-moral.  A  convenient  way  of  ap- 
proach to  this  situation  is  offered  by  the  ethical,  or  rather 
non-ethical,  status  of  the  various  mechanical  devices  which 
have  come  into  use  in  recent  years  for  performing  many 
economic  services.  The  weighing  machines,  candy  ma- 
chines, telephones,  are  supposed  to  give  a  certain  service 
for  a  penny  or  a  nickel.  But  if  the  machine  is  out  of  order, 
the  victim  has  no  recourse.  His  own  attitude  is  corre- 
spondingly mechanical.  He  regards  himself  as  dealing,  not 
with  a  person,  but  with  a  thing.  If  he  can  exploit  it  or 
"beat"  it,  so  much  the  better.  Now  a  corporation,  in  the 
attitude  which  it  takes  and  evokes,  is  about  half-way  be- 
tween the  pure  mechanism  of  a  machine  and  the  completely 
personal  attitude  of  a  moral  individual.  A  man  is  over- 
charged, or  has  some  other  difficulty  with  an  official  of  a 
railroad  company.  It  is  as  hopeless  to  look  for  immediate 
relief  as  it  is  in  the  case  of  a  slot  machine.  The  conductor 
is  just  as  much  limited  by  his  orders  as  the  machine  by  its 
mechanism.  The  man  may  later  correspond  with  some 
higher  official,  and  if  patience  and  life  both  persist  long 
enough,  he  will  probably  recover.  But  to  prevent  fraud, 
the  company  is  obliged  to  be  more  rigorous  than  a  person 


CORPORATIONS  AND  UNIONS  503 

would  be  who  was  dealing  with  the  case  in  a  personal  fash- 
ion. Hence  the  individual  with  a  just  grievance  is  likely  to 
entertain  toward  the  corporation  the  feeling  that  he  is 
dealing  with  a  machine,  not  with  an  ethical  being,  even  as 
the  company's  servants  are  not  permitted  to  exercise  any 
moral  consideration  in  dealing  with  the  public.  They 
merely  obey  orders.  Public  sentiment,  which  would  hold 
an  individual  teamster  responsible  for  running  over  a  child, 
or  an  individual  stage  owner  responsible  for  reckless  or 
careless  conduct  in  carrying  his  passengers,  feels  only  a 
blind  rage  in  the  case  of  a  railroad  accident.  It  cannot 
fix  moral  responsibility  definitely  upon  either  stockholder 
or  management  or  employee,  and  conversely  neither  stock- 
holder, nor  manager,  nor  employee  ^  feels  the  moral  re- 
straint which  the  individual  would  feel.  He  is  not  wholly 
responsible,  and  his  share  in  the  collective  responsibility 
is  so  small  as  often  to  seem  entirely  negligible. 

Relations  to  the  Law. — The  collective  business  enter- 
prises, when  incorporated,  are  regarded  as  "juristic  per- 
sons," and  so  gain  the  support  of  law  as  well  as  become 
subject  to  its  control.  If  the  great  corporation  can  thus 
gain  the  right  of  an  individual,  it  can  enter  the  field  of  free 
contract  with  great  advantage.  Labor  unions  have  not 
incorporated,  fearing,  perhaps,  to  give  the  law  control 
over  their  funds.  They  seek  a  higher  standard  of  living, 
but  private  law  does  not  recognize  this  as  a  right.  It 
merely  protects  contracts,  but  leaves  it  to  the  individual 
to  make  the  best  contract  he  can.  As  most  wage-earners 
have  no  contracts,  but  are  liable  to  dismissal  at  any  time, 
the  unions  have  seen  little  to  be  gained  by  incorporation. 
They  have  thus  missed  contact  with  the  institution  in 
which  society  seeks  to  embody,  however  tardily,  its  moral 
ideas  and  have  been,  in  a  sense,  outlaws.     They  were  such 

^"J.  O.  Fagan,"  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  (1908),  has  called  atten- 
tion to  the  influence  of  the  union  in  shielding  individuals  from  the 
penalties  of  carelessness. 


504        ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

at  first  by  no  fault  of  their  own,  for  the  law  treated  such 
combinations  as  conspiracies.  And  they  are  still  at  two 
decided  disadvantages.  First,  the  capitalistic  or  employ- 
ing corporation  acting  as  a  single  juristic  person  may 
refuse  to  buy  the  labor  of  a  union ;  indeed,  according  to  a 
recent  decision,  it  cannot  be  forbidden  to  discharge  its  em- 
ployees because  of  their  membership  in  a  union.  As  the 
corporation  may  employ  scores  of  thousands,  and  be  prac- 
tically the  only  employer  of  a  particular  kind  of  labor,  it 
can  thus  enforce  a  virtual  boycott  and  prevent  the  union 
from  selling  its  labor.  It  does  not  need  to  use  a  "black- 
list" because  the  employers  are  all  combined  in  one  "per- 
son." On  the  other  hand,  the  union  is  adjudged  to  act  in 
restraint  of  interstate  commerce  if  it  boycotts  the  employ- 
ing corporation.  The  union  is  here  treated  as  a  combina- 
tion, not  as  a  single  person.  The  second  point  in  which  the 
employing  body  has  greatly  the  legal  advantage  appears 
in  the  case  of  a  strike.  Men  are  allowed  to  quit  work,  but 
this  is  not  an  effective  method  of  exerting  pressure  unless 
the  employer  is  anxious  to  keep  his  plant  in  operation  and 
can  employ  no  one  else.  If  he  can  take  advantage  of  an 
open  labor  market  and  hire  other  workmen,  the  only  re- 
source of  the  strikers  is  to  induce  these  to  join  their  ranks. 
But  they  have  been  enjoined  by  the  courts,  not  only  from 
intimidating,  but  even  from  persuading  ^  employees  to  quit 

*  Recent  Illinois  decisions  (216  111.,  358  f.,  and  especially  232  111., 
431-440)  uphold  sweeping  injunctions  against  persuasion,  no  matter 
how  peaceable.  "Lawful  competition,  which  may  injure  the  business 
of  a  person,  even  though  successfully  directed  to  driving  him  out 
of  business,  is  not  actionable."  But  for  a  union  to  hire  laborers  away 
from  an  employer  by  money  or  transportation  is  not  "lawful  compe- 
tition." The  object  is  assumed  by  the  court  to  be  malicious,  i.e.,  the 
injury  of  the  employer.  The  court  does  not  entertain  the  possi- 
bility that  to  obtain  an  eight-hour  day  is  as  lawful  an  aim  for  the 
labor  union  as  to  acquire  property  is  for  an  employer.  The  decision 
shows  clearly  the  difference  in  legal  attitude  toward  pressure  exerted 
by  business  corporations  for  the  familiar  end  of  acquisition,  and  that 
exerted  by  the  union  for  the  novel  end  of  a  standard  of  living. 
The  court  regards  the  injury  to  others  as  incidental  in  the  former,  but 
»s  primary  and  therefore  as  malicious  in  the  latter.    It  may  be  that 


CORPORATIONS  AND  UNIONS  505 

work.  The  method  of  procedure  in  enforcing  the  injunc- 
tion, which  enables  the  judge  to  fix  the  offense,  eliminate 
trial  by  jury,  determine  the  guilt,  and  impose  any  penalty 
he  deems  fit,  has  all  the  results  of  criminal  process  with 
none  of  its  limitations,  and  forms  a  most  effective  agency 
against  the  unions.  Where  persuasion  is  enjoined  it  is 
difficult  to  see  how  a  union  can  exert  any  effective  pressure 
except  in  a  highly  skilled  trade,  where  it  can  control  all 
the  labor  supply.  In  the  field  of  private  rights  and  free 
contract,  the  labor  unions  are  then  at  a  disadvantage  be- 
cause they  have  no  rights  which  are  of  any  value  for  their 
purposes,  except,  under  certain  conditions,  the  right  to 
refuse  to  work.  And  since  this  is,  in  most  cases,  a  weapon 
that  injures  its  wielder  far  more  than  his  opponent,  it  is 
not  effective. 

Disappointed  in  the  field  of  free  contract,  the  labor 
unions  seek  to  enlist  public  agency  in  behalf  of  better  sani- 
tary conditions  and  in  prevention  of  child-labor,  long  hours 
for  women,  unfair  contracts,  and  the  like.  Capitalistic 
corporations  frequently  resist  this  change  of  venue  on  the 
ground  that  it  interferes  with  free  contract  or  takes  away 
property  without  "due  process  of  law,"  and  many  laws 
have  been  set  aside  as  unconstitutional  on  these  grounds,^ 

future  generations  will  regard  this  judicial  psychology  somewhat 
as  we  regard  some  of  the  cases  cited  above,  ch.  xxi.  Other  courts 
have  not  always  taken  this  view,  and  have  permitted  persuasion 
unless  it  is  employed  in  such  a  manner  or  under  such  circumstances 
as  to  "operate  on  fears  rather  than  upon  their  judgments  or  their 
sympathies"  (17.,  N.  Y.  Supp.,  264).  For  other  cases.  Am.  and  Eng, 
Decisions  in  Equity,  1905,  p.  565  f.;  also  Eddy  on  Combinations. 

*  The  list  appended  was  bulletined  at  the  Chicago  Industrial  Ex- 
hibit of  1906,  and  reprinted  in  Charities  and  The  Commons. 

"What  'Freedom  of  Contract'  has  Meant  to  I^abor: 

1.  Denial  of  eight-hour  law  for  women  in  Illinois. 

2.  Denial  of  eight-hour  law  for  city  labor  or  for  mechanics  and 
ordinary   laborers. 

3.  Denial  of  ten-hour  law  for  bakers. 

4.  Inability    to    prohibit    tenement    labor. 

5.  Inability  to  prevent  by  law  employer  from  requiring  employee 
as  condition  of  securing  work,  to  assume  all  risk  from  injury 
while  at  work. 


606        ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

several  of  them  no  doubt  because  so  drawn  as  to  appear  to 
be  in  the  interest  of  a  class,  rather  than  in  that  of  the 
public.  The  trend  in  the  direction  of  asserting  larger  pub- 
lic control  both  under  the  police  power  and  over  corpora- 
tions in  whose  service  the  public  has  a  direct  interest,  will 
be  noted  later.  Against  other  corporations  the  general 
public  or  the  unsuccessful  competitor  has  sought  legal  aid 
in  legislation  against  "trusts,"  but  this  has  mainly  proved 
to  be  futile.  It  has  merely  induced  a  change  in  form  of 
organization.  Nor  has  it  been  easy  as  yet  for  the  law  to 
exercise  any  effective  control  over  the  business  corpora- 
tion on  any  of  the  three  principles  invoked — namely:  to 
prevent  monopoly,  to  secure  the  public  interest  in  the  case 
of  public  service  corporations,  and  to  assert  police  power. 
For  penalties  by  fine  frequently  fail  to  reach  the  guilty 
persons,  and  it  is  difficult  to  fix  any  personal  responsibility. 
Juries  are  unwilling  to  convict  subordinate  officials  of  acts 

6.  Inability   to   prohibit    employer   selling   goods    to   employees   at 
greater  profit  than  to  non-employees. 

7.  Inability  to  prohibit  mine  owners  screening  coal  which  is  mined 
by  weight  before  crediting  same  to  employees  as  basis  of  wages. 

8.  Inability  to   legislate   against   employer   using   coercion  to  pre- 
vent employee  becoming  a  member  of  a  labor  union. 

9.  Inability  to  restrict  employer  in  making  deductions  from  wages 
of  employees. 

10.  Inability    to    compel    by    law    payment    of    wages    at    regular 
intervals. 

12.  Inability    to    provide   by    law   that    laborers    on    public   works 
shall  be  paid  prevailing  rate  of  wages. 

13.  Inability   to   compel   by   law   payment   of   extra   compensation 
for  overtime. 

14.  Inability  to  prevent  by  law  employer  from  holding  back  part 
of  wages. 

15.  Inability  to  compel  payment  of  wages  in  cash;  so  that  employer 
may  pay  in  truck  or  scrip  not  redeemable  in  lawful  money. 

16.  Inability  to  forbid  alien  labor  on  municipal  contracts. 

17.  Inability  to  secure  by  law  union  label  on  city  printing." 
Labor   representatives   speak  of  "the  ironic  manner   in   which  the 

courts  guarantee  to  workers:  The  right  to  be  maimed  and  killed  with- 
out liability  to  the  employer;  the  right  to  be  discharged  for  belong- 
ing to  a  union;  the  right  to  work  as  many  hours  as  employers  please 
and  under  any  considerations  which  they  may  impose."  The  "irony" 
is,  of  course,  not  intended  by  the  courts.  It  is  the  irony  inherent  in  a 
situation  when  rules  designed  to  secure  justice  become  futile,  if  not 
a  positive  cause  of  injustice,  because  of  changed  conditions. 


PRODUCTION,  EXCHANGE,  VALUATION     507 

which  they  beheve  to  have  been  required  by  the  policy  of  the 
higher  officials,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  higher  offi- 
cials are  seldom  directly  cognizant  of  criminal  acts.  Grad- 
ually, however,  we  may  believe  that  the  law  will  find  a  way 
to  make  both  capital  and  labor  organizations  respect  the 
public  welfare,  and  to  give  them  support  in  their  desirable 
ends.  The  cooperative  principle  cannot  be  outlawed;  it 
must  be  more  fully  socialized. 

§  4.    THE  METHODS  OF   PRODUCTION,  EXCHANGE,  AND 
VALUATION 

The  Machine. — The  technique  of  production  has  shown 
a  similar  progress  from  individual  to  collective  method. 
The  earlier  method  was  that  of  handicraft.  The  present 
method  in  most  occupations,  aside  from  agriculture,  is 
that  of  the  machine.  But  the  great  economic  advantage 
of  the  machine  is  not  only  in  the  substitution  of  mechanical 
power  for  muscle ;  it  is  also  in  the  substitution  of  collective 
for  individual  work.  It  is  the  machine  which  makes  pos- 
sible on  a  tremendously  effective  basis  the  division  of  labor 
and  its  social  organization.  The  extraordinary  increase 
in  wealth  during  the  past  century  depends  upon  these  two 
factors.  The  machine  itself  moreover,  in  its  enormous  ex- 
pansion, is  not  only  a  social  tool,  but  a  social  product.  The 
invention  and  discovery  which  gave  rise  to  the  new  proc- 
esses in  industry  of  every  sort  were  largely  the  outcome  of 
scientific  researches  carried  on  at  public  expense  to  a  great 
extent  by  men  other  than  those  who  finally  utilize  their 
results.  They  become  in  turn  the  instruments  for  the 
production  of  wealth,  which  is  thus  doubly  social  in  origin. 

This  machine  process  has  an  important  bearing  upon 
the  factors  of  character  mentioned  in  our  analysis.  It 
standardizes  efficiency;  it  calls  for  extraordinary  increase 
of  speed;  it  requires  great  specialization  of  function  and 
often  calls  for  no  knowledge  of  the  whole  process.    On  the 


508        ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

other  hand,  it  gives  a  certain  sense  of  power  to  control  and 
direct  highly  complicated  machinery.  In  the  more  skilled 
trades  there  is  more  time  and  resource  for  intellectual,  aes- 
thetic, or  social  satisfactions.  The  association  of  work- 
men favors  discussion  of  common  interests,  sympathy,  and 
cooperation ;  this  may  evoke  a  readiness  to  sacrifice  indi- 
vidual to  group  welfare,  which  is  quite  analogous  to 
patriotic  sentiment  at  its  best,  even  if  it  is  liable  to  such 
violent  expressions  as  characterize  patriotic  sentiment  at 
its  worst.  The  association  of  workmen  is  one  of  the  most 
significant  features  of  modern  industry. 

Capital  and  Credit — The  technique  of  exchange  of  serv- 
ices and  goods  has  undergone  a  transformation  from  an 
individual  and  limited  to  a  collective  and  almost  unlimited 
method.  The  earlier  form  of  exchange  and  barter  limited 
the  conduct  of  business  to  a  small  area,  and  the  simpler 
form  of  personal  service  involved  either  slavery  or  some 
personal  control  which  was  almost  as  direct.  With  the  use 
of  money  it  became  possible  to  make  available  a  far  greater 
area  for  exchange  and  to  accumulate  capital  which  repre- 
sented the  past  labors  of  vast  numbers  of  individuals. 
With  the  further  discovery  of  the  possibilities  of  a  credit 
system  which  business  enterprise  now  employs,  it  is  possible 
to  utilize  in  any  enterprise  not  merely  the  results  of  the 
labor  of  the  past,  but  the  anticipated  income  of  the  future. 
A  corporation,  as  organized  at  present,  issues  obligations 
in  the  form  of  bonds  and  stock  which  represent  no  value  as 
yet  produced,  but  only  the  values  of  labor  or  privilege  an- 
ticipated. The  whole  technique,  therefore,  of  capital  and 
credit  means  a  collective  business  enterprise.  It  masses  the 
work  and  the  abilities  of  thousands  and  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands in  the  past  and  the  future,  and  wields  the  product  as 
an  almost  irresistible  agency  to  achieve  new  enterprises  or 
to  drive  from  the  field  rival  enterprises. 

Basis  of  Valuation. — The  whole  basis  for  value  and 
prices  has  also  been  changed.     The  old  basis,  employed  for 


PRODUCTION,  EXCHANGE,  VALUATION     509 

the  most  part  through  the  Middle  Ages  in  fixing  the  value 
of  labor  or  goods,  was  the  amount  of  labor  and  material 
which  had  been  expended.  The  modern  basis  is  that  of  sup- 
ply and  demand.  This  proceeds  on  the  theory  that  it  is  hu- 
man wants  which  after  all  give  value  to  any  product.  I  may 
have  expended  time  and  labor  upon  a  book  or  carving,  or 
in  the  cultivation  of  a  new  vegetable,  or  in  the  manufacture 
of  an  article  for  apparel,  but  if  no  one  cares  to  read  the 
book  or  look  at  the  carving,  if  the  vegetable  is  one  that  no 
one  can  eat,  or  the  garment  is  one  that  no  one  will  wear,  it 
has  no  value.  Starting  then  from  this,  we  can  see  how 
the  two  elements  in  valuation — namely,  demand  and  sup- 
ply— are  affected  by  social  factors.  The  demand  for  an 
article  depends  upon  the  market:  i.e.,  upon  how  many 
buyers  there  are,  and  what  wants  they  have.  Modern 
methods  of  communication  and  transportation  have  made 
the  market  for  goods  as  large  as  the  civilized  world.  Edu- 
cation is  constantly  awakening  new  wants.  The  facilities 
for  communication,  for  travel,  and  for  education  are  con- 
stantly leading  one  part  of  the  world  to  imitate  the  stand- 
ards or  fashions  set  by  other  parts.  We  have,  therefore, 
a  social  standard  for  valuation  which  is  constantly  extend- 
ing in  area  and  in  intensity. 

The  other  factor  in  valuation,  namely,  the  supply,  is 
likewise  being  affected  in  an  increasing  degree  by  social 
forces.  With  many,  if  not  with  most,  of  the  commodities 
which  are  of  greatest  importance,  it  has  been  found  that 
there  is  less  profit  in  an  unrestricted  supply  than  in  a  sup- 
ply regulated  in  the  interest  of  the  producers.  The  great 
coal  mines,  the  iron  industries,  the  manufacturers  of  cloth- 
ing, find  it  more  profitable  to  combine  and  produce  a  limited 
amount.  The  great  corporations  and  trusts  have  usually 
signalized  their  acquisition  of  a  monopoly  or  an  approxi- 
mate control  of  any  great  field  of  production  by  shutting 
down  part  of  the  factories  formerly  engaged.  The  supply 
of  labor  is  likewise  limited  by  the  policies  of  labor  unions 


510        ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

in  limiting  the  number  of  apprentices  allowed,  or  by  other 
means  of  keeping  the  union  small.  Tariffs,  whether  in  the 
interest  of  capital  or  of  labor,  are  a  social  control  of  the 
supply.  Franchises,  whether  of  steam  railroads,  street 
transportation,  gas,  electric  hghting,  or  other  public 
utilities  so-called,  are  all  of  them  in  the  nature  of 
monopolies  granted  to  a  certain  group  of  individuals. 
Their  value  is  dependent  upon  the  general  need  of 
these  utilities,  coupled  with  the  public  limitation  of 
supply.  In  many  cases  the  services  are  so  indispensable 
to  the  community  that  the  servant  does  not  need  to  give 
special  care  or  thought  to  the  rendering  of  especially 
efficient  service.  The  increase  in  population  makes  the 
franchises  enormously  profitable  without  any  correspond- 
ing increase  of  risk  or  effort  on  the  part  of  the  utility 
company. 

But  the  most  striking  illustration  of  the  creation  of 
values  by  society  is  seen  in  the  case  of  land.  That  an  acre 
of  land  in  one  part  of  the  country  is  worth  fifty  dollars,  and 
in  another  part  two  hundred  thousand  dollars,^  is  not  due 
to  any  difference  in  the  soil,  nor  for  the  most  part  to  any 
labor  or  skill  or  other  quality  of  the  owner.  It  is  due  to 
the  fact  that  in  the  one  case  there  is  no  social  demand, 
whereas,  in  the  other,  the  land  is  in  the  heart  of  a  city.  In 
certain  cases,  no  doubt,  the  owner  of  city  real  estate  may 
help  by  his  enterprise  to  build  up  the  city,  but  even  if  so 
this  is  incidental.  The  absentee  owner  profits  as  much  by 
the  growth  of  the  city  as  the  foremost  contributor  to  that 
growth.  The  owner  need  not  even  improve  the  property 
by  a  building.  This  enormous  increase  in  land  values  has 
been  called  the  "unearned  increment."  In  America  it  is  due 
very  largely  to  features  of  natural  location  and  transpor- 
tation.    It  has  seemed  to  some  writers,   such  as  Henry 

*  In  Greater  New  York.  An  acre  on  Manhattan  Island  is  of  course 
worth  much  more.  The  Report  of  the  New  York  Tax  Department  for 
1907  is  very  suggestive. 


PRODUCTION,  EXCHANGE,  VALUATION     511 

George,  not  only  a  conspicuous  injustice,  but  the  root  of  all 
economic  evil.  It  is,  no  doubt,  in  many  cases,  a  conspicuous 
form  of  "easy  money,"  but  the  principle  is  not  different 
from  that  which  is  involved  in  nearly  all  departments  of 
modern  industry.  The  wealth  of  modern  society  is  really 
a  gigantic  pool.  No  individual  knows  how  much  he  creates ; 
it  is  a  social  product.  To  estimate  what  any  one  should 
receive  by  an  attempted  estimate  of  what  he  has  individu- 
ally contributed  is  absolutely  impossible. 


§  5.    THE    FACTORS    WHICH    AID    ETHICAL    EECONSTRUCTION 

The  two  distinctive  features  of  the  modern  economic  sit- 
uation, its  collective  character  and  its  impersonal  charac- 
ter, are  themselves  capable  of  supplying  valuable  aid  to- 
ward understanding  the  ethical  problems  and  in  making  the 
reconstruction  required.  For  the  very  magnitude  of  mod- 
ern operations  and  properties  serves  to  bring  out  more 
clearly  the  principles  involved.  The  impersonal  character 
allows  economic  forces  pure  and  simple  to  be  seen  in  their 
moral  bearings.  Publicity  becomes  a  necessity.  Just  as 
the  factories  are  compelled  to  have  better  light,  air,  and 
sanitation  than  the  sweat  shops,  so  public  attention  is 
aroused  and  the  conscience  stimulated  by  practices  of  great 
corporations,  although  these  practices  may  be  in  principle 
precisely  the  same  as  those  of  private  persons  which  escape 
moral  reprobation.  In  some  cases,  no  doubt,  the  very  mag- 
nitude of  the  operation  does  actually  change  the  principle. 
A  "lift"  on  the  road  from  an  oldtime  stage-driver,  or  a 
''special  bargain"  at  a  country  store  was  not  likely  to  dis- 
turb the  balance  of  competition  as  a  system  of  free  passes 
or  secret  rebates  may  in  modern  business.  But  in  other 
cases  what  the  modern  organizations  have  done  is  simply 
to  exhibit  the  workings  of  competition  or  other  economic 
forces  on  a  larger  scale.  An  illustration  of  this  is  seen  in 
the  familiar  fact  that  a  law  passed  to  correct  some  corpo- 


51^        ETHICS  OF  THE  ECONOMIC  LIFE 

rate  practice  is  often  found  to  apply  to  many  practices 
not  contemplated  by  the  makers  of  the  law. 

The  effect  of  getting  a  principle  out  into  the  open  and 
at  work  on  a  large  scale  is  to  make  public  judgment  clear 
and  reprobation  of  bad  practices  more  effective.  The  im- 
personal factor  likewise  contributes  powerfully  to  make 
condemnation  easy.  Criticism  is  unhampered  by  the  con- 
siderations which  complicate  the  situation  when  the  conduct 
of  an  individual  is  in  question.  The  individual  may  be  a 
good  neighbor,  or  a  good  fellow,  or  have  had  bad  luck. 
But  no  one  hesitates  to  express  his  opinion  of  a  corporation, 
and  the  average  jury  is  not  biased  in  its  favor,  whatever 
may  be  true  of  the  bench.  Even  the  plea  that  the  cor- 
poration includes  widows  and  orphans  among  its  share- 
holders, which  is  occasionally  put  forth  to  avert  interfer- 
ence with  corporate  practices,  usually  falls  on  unsympa- 
thetic ears.  A  higher  standard  will  be  demanded  for  busi- 
ness conduct,  a  more  rigid  regard  for  public  service  will  be 
exacted,  a  more  moderate  return  for  invested  capital  in 
public  service,  and  a  more  liberal  treatment  of  employees 
will  be  insisted  upon  from  corporations  than  from  private 
individuals.  Nor  does  the  organization  of  labor  escape  the 
same  law.  When  an  agent  of  a  union  has  been  detected  in 
calling  a  strike  for  private  gain,  public  sentiment  has  been 
as  severe  in  condemnation  as  in  the  case  of  corporate  offi- 
cials who  have  profited  at  the  expense  of  stockholders. 

Summary. — We  may  summarize  some  of  the  chief  points 
brought  out  by  our  analysis.  Modern  technique  has  in- 
creased enormously  the  productivity  of  labor,  but  has  in- 
creased its  dangers  to  health  and  life,  and  to  some  extent 
diminished  its  educating  and  moralizing  values.  The  im- 
personal agencies  give  vast  power,  but  make  responsibility 
difficult  to  locate.  The  collective  agencies  and  the  social 
contributions  make  the  economic  process  a  great  social 
pool.  Men  put  in  manual  labor,  skill,  capital.  Some 
of   it   they   have   inherited   from   their   kin;    some    they 


PRODUCTION,  EXCHANGE,  VALUATION    51S 

have  inherited  from  the  inventors  and  scientists  who  have 
devised  tools  and  processes;  some  thej  have  wrought 
themselves.  This  pooling  of  effort  is  possible  because  of 
good  government  and  institutions  which  were  created  by 
statesmen,  patriots,  and  reformers,  and  are  maintained  by 
similar  agencies.  The  pool  is  immensely  productive.  But 
no  one  can  say  just  how  much  his  contribution  earns. 
Shall  every  one  keep  what  he  can  get?  Shall  all  share 
alike.''  Or  shall  there  be  other  rules  for  division — either 
made  and  enforced  by  society  or  made  by  the  individual 
and  enforced  by  his  own  conscience?  Are  our  present  rules 
adequate  to  such  a  situation  as  that  of  the  present?  These 
are  some  of  the  difficult  questions  that  modern  conditions 
are  pressing  upon  the  man  who  thinks. 


LITERATURE 

Besides  the  classic  treatises  of  Adam  Smith,  J.  S.  Mill,  and  Karl 
Marx,  which  are  important  for  the  relation  of  the  economic  to  the 
whole  social  order  during  the  past  century,  the  following  recent  works 
in  the  general  field  give  especial  prominence  to  the  ethical  problems 
involved:  Marshall,  Principles  of  Economics,  1898;  Hadley,  Economics, 
1896;  Clark,  Essentials  of  Economic  Theory  as  Applied  to  Modern 
Problems  of  Industry  and  Public  Policy,  1907;  George,  Progress  and 
Poverty,  1879;  Schmoller,  Griindriss  der  allgemeinen  Staatswirt- 
schaftslehre,  1900-04;  Bonar,  Philosophy  and  Political  Economy,  1893; 
Hobson,  The  Social  Problem,  1901;  Brooks,  The  Social  Unrest,  1903. 

Ox  MoDERx  Business  axd  Industry:  Veblen,  The  Theory  of 
Business  Enterprise,  1904;  Taylor,  The  Modern  Factory  System, 
1891;  Hobson,  Evolution  of  Modern  Capitalism,  1894;  Toynbee,  The 
Industrial  Revolution,  1890;  Adams  and  Sumner,  Labor  Problems, 
1905;  S.  and  B.  Webb,  History  of  Trade  Unionism,  1894,  Problems 
of  Modern  Industry,  1898,  and  Industrial  Democracy,  1903;  Mitchell, 
Organized  Labor,  1903;  Ely,  The  Labor  Movement  in  America,  1886; 
Hollander  and  Barnett,  Studies  in  American  Trades  Unionism,  1907; 
Henderson,  Social  Elements,  1898,  chs.  vii.-x. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

SOME  PRINCIPLES  IN  THE  ECONOMIC  ORDER 

Certain  problems  suggested  by  the  foregoing  analysis 
are  unsettled,  for  the  issues  are  so  involved,  and  in  some 
cases,  both  the  facts  and  their  interpretations  are  so  much 
in  controversy,  that  we  cannot  yet  formulate  sure  moral 
judgments.  On  the  other  hand,  certain  principles  emerge 
with  a  good  degree  of  clearness.  We  state  some  of  the 
more  obvious. 

1.  Wealth  and  Property  are  Subordinate  in  Impor- 
tance to  Personality. — The  hfe  is  more  than  meat.  Most 
agree  to  this,  stated  abstractly,  but  many  fail  to  make 
the  application.  They  may  sacrifice  their  own  health, 
or  human  sympathy,  or  family  life;  or  they  may  consent 
to  this  actively  or  passively  as  employers,  or  consumers, 
or  citizens,  in  the  case  of  others.  A  civilization  which 
loses  life  in  providing  the  means  to  live  is  not  highly 
moral.  A  society  which  can  afford  luxuries  for  some  can- 
not easily  justify  unhealthful  conditions  of  production, 
or  lack  of  general  education.  An  individual  who  grati- 
fies a  single  appetite  at  the  expense  of  vitality  and  effi- 
ciency is  immoral.  A  society  which  considers  wealth  or 
property  as  ultimate,  whether  under  a  conception  of  "nat- 
ural rights"  or  otherwise,  is  setting  the  means  above  the 
end,  and  is  therefore  unmoral  or  immoral.'^ 

2.  Wealth  Should  Depend  on  Activity. — The  highest 
aspect  of  life  on  its  individual  side  is  found  in  active  and 
resolute  achievement,  in  the  embodying  of  purpose  in  ac- 
tion. (Thought,  discovery,  creation,  mark  a  higher  value 
than  the  satisfaction  of  wants,  or  the  amassing  of  goods.   \ 

514 


U    ^^      kj'^^^'-^l/$A4jf\ 


PRINCIPLES  IN  ECONOMIC  ORDER       515 

If  the  latter  is  to  be  a  help  it  must  stimulate  activity, 
not  deaden  it.  (inherited  wealth  without  any  accompany- 
ing incitement  from  education  or  class  feeling  or  public 
opinion  would  be  a  questionable  institution  from  this  point 
of  view.  Veblen  in  his  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class 
points  out  various  forms  of  degeneration  that  may  attend 
upon  leisure,  whenjeisure  means  not  merely  release  from 
mechanical  labor  in  the  interest  of  more  intellectual  ac- 
tivity, but  a  relinquishing  of  all  serious  labor.  As  the  race 
has  made  its  ascent  in  the  presence  of  an  environment 
which  has  constantly  selected  the  more  active  persons,  so- 
ciety in  its  institutions  and  consciously  directed  processes 
may  well  plan  to  keep  this  balance  between  activity  and 
reward.  Modern  charity  has  adopted  this  principle.  We 
fear  to  pauperize  by  giving  aid  to  the  poor  unless  we  can 
provide  some  form  of  self-help.  But  in  its  treatment  of 
the  rich,  society  is  not  solicitous.  Our  provisions  for  in- 
heritance of  property  undoubtedly  pauperize  a  certain 
proportion  of  those  who  inherit.  Whether  this  can  be 
prevented  without  interfering  with  motives  to  activity  on 
the  part  of  those  who  acquire  the  property,  or  whether 
the  rich  thus  pauperized  are  not  as  well  worth  saving  to 
society  as  the  poor,  will  undoubtedly  become  more  pressing 
problems  as  the  number  of  inheritors  increases,  and  so- 
ciety recognizes  that  it  may  have  a  duty  to  its  idle  rich 
as  well  as  to  its  idle  poor. 

3.  Public  Service  Should  Go  Along  with  Wealth. — 
Note  that  we  do  not  say,  "wealth  should  be  proportionate 
to  public  service."  This  would  take  us  at  once  into  the 
controversy  between  the  individualist  and  the  socialist 
which  we  shall  consider  later  among  the  unsettled  prob- 
lems. 'The  individualist,  as  represented,  for  example,  by 
Herbert  Spencer,  would  say  that  except  for  the  young, 
the  aged,  or  the  sick,  reward  should  be  proportioned  to 
merit.  The  socialist,  on  the  other  hand,  is  more  inclined 
to  say,  "From  each  according  to  his  ability,  to  each  ac- 


i 


516       PRINCIPLES  IN  ECONOMIC  ORDER 


.  ^  cording  to  his  needs."  In  either  case,  it  is  assumed  that 
«  there  should  be  pubhc  service.  Leaving  for  later  consid- 
p  4  eration  the  question  whether  we  can  fix  any  quantitative 
^  -^  rule,  let  us  notice  at  this  time  why  some  service  is  a  funda- 
^.        mental  moral  principle.  1 

JV  Such  service  in  the  form  of  some  economically  useful 

contribution,  whether  to  the  production  and  distribution 
of  goods,  to  the  public  order,  to  education,  to  the  satis- 
faction of  aesthetic  and  religious  wants,  might  be  de- 
manded as  a  matter  of  common  honesty.  This  would  be 
to  treat  it  as  a  just  claim  made  by  society  upon  each  of 
its  members.  There  is,  of  course,  no  legal  claim.  The 
law  is  far  from  adopting  as  a  universal  maxim,  "If  any 
man  will  not  work,  neither  let  him  eat."  Vagrancy  is  not 
a  term  applied  to  all  idlers.  It  is  sufficient  for  the  law  if 
some  of  a  man's  ancestors  obtained  possession  and  title  by 
service,  or  force,  or  gift.  Modern  law,  in  its  zeal  to 
strengthen  the  institution  of  property,  releases  all  the 
iW  'Owner's  posterity  forever  from  the  necessity  of  any  use- 
•  ^^  ful  service!  The  old  theology  used  to  carry  the  concep- 
^^^\\  tion  of  inherited  or  imputed  sin  and  merit  to  extremes 
^  which  modern  individualism  rejects.  But  the  law — at 
least  in  the  United  States — permits  a  perpetual  descent 
of  inherited  property;  i.e.,  of  inherited  permission  to  re- 
ceive from  society  without  rendering  any  personal  return. 
Theologically  and  morally,  however,  the  man  of  to-day 
repudiates  any  conception  which  would  reduce  him  to  a 
shadow  of  another.  He  wishes  to  stand  on  his  own  feet, 
to  be  rewarded  or  blamed  according  to  his  own  acts,  not 
because  of  a  deed  of  some  one  else.  To  follow  out  this 
principle  in  the  economic  sphere  would  require  that  every 
man  who  receives  aught  from  others  should  feel  in  duty 
bound  to  render  some  service.  Merely  "to  have  been 
born"  is  hardly  sufficient  in  a  democratic  society,  however 
munificent  a  contribution  to  the  social  weal  the  French 
aristocrat  may  have  felt  this  to  be. 


PRINCIPLES  IN  ECONOMIC  ORDER       517 

But  it  is  only  one  aspect  of  the  case  to  say  that  society 
may  claim  service  as  a  just  due.  There  is  another  as- 
pect— what  this  service  means  to  the  person  himself.  It 
is  his  opportunity  to  fulfill  his  function  in  the  social  or- 
ganism. Now  a  person  is  as  large  as  his  purpose  and 
will.  The  person,  therefore,  who  identifies  his  purposes 
with  the  welfare  of  the  public  is  thereby  identifying  him- 
self with  the  whole  social  body.  He  is  no  longer  himself 
alone ;  he  is  a  social  power,  i  Not  only  the  leader  of  society, 
but  every  efficient  servant  makes  himself  an  organ  through 
which  society  itself  acts  and  moves  forward.  This  is  per- 
haps most  conspicuous  in  the  case  of  the  great  inventors 
or  organizers  of  industry  and  society.  By  serving  civili- 
z_ation  they  have  become  its  bearers  and  have  thus  shared 
its  highest  pulses.  But  it  is  true  of  every  laborer.  As 
he  is  an  active  contributor  he  becomes  creative,  not  merely 
receptive. " 

4.  The  Change  from  Individual  to  Collective  Methods, 
of  Industry  and  Business  Demands  a  Change  from  Indi- 
vidual to  Collective  Types  of  Morality .^Moral  action  is 
either  to  accomplish  some  positive  good  or  to  hinder 
some  wrong  or  evil.  But  under  present  conditions  the 
individual  by  himself  is  practically  helpless  and  useless 
for  either  purpose.  It  was  formerly  possible  for  a  man 
to  set  a  high  standard  and  live  up  to  it,  irrespective  of 
the  practice  or  cooperation  of  others.  When  a  seller's 
market  was  limited  to  his  acquaintance  or  a  limited  ter- 
ritory, it  might  well  be  that  honesty  or  even  fair  dealing 
was  the  best  policy.  But  with  the  changes  that  have  come 
in  business  conditions  the  worse  practices,  like  a  baser 
coinage,  tend  to  drive  out  the  morally  better.  This  may 
not  apply  so  thoroughly  to  the  relations  between  seller 
and  buyer,  but  it  applies  to  many  aspects  of  trade.  A 
merchant  may  desire  to  pay  his  women  clerks  wages  on 
which  they  can  support  life  without  selling  their  souls. 
But  if  his  rival  across  the  street  pays  only  half  the  wage 


518       PRINCIPLES  IN  ECONOMIC  ORDER 

I   necessary  for  subsistence,  it  is  evident  the  former  is  in 

l^o  far  at  a  disadvantage.     Extend  the  same  policy.     Let 

the  former  have  his  goods  made  under  good  conditions 

and  the  latter  have  no  scruple  against  "sweating" ;  let 

the  former  pay  taxes  on  an  honest  estimate  and  the  latter 

"see"  the  assessor,  or  threaten  to  move  out  of  town  if 

he  is  assessed  for  more  than  a  figure  named  by  himself; 

let  the  former  ask  only  for  a  fair  chance,  while  the  latter 

\      secures  legislation  that  favors  his  own  interests,  or  gets 

I     specifications  for  bids  worded  so  that  they  will  exclude 

/      his  opponents,  or  in  selling  to  public  bodies  "fixes"  the 

1      councils  or   school  committees,  or   obtains   illegal  favors 

in    transportation.      Let    this    continue,    and    how    long 

will  the  former  stay  in  the  field.''    Even  as  regards  quality 

*  of  goods,  where  it  would  seem  more  plausible  that  honest 

dealing  might   succeed,   experience   has   shown   that   this 

'       depends   on  whether  the   frauds   can  be   easily  detected. 

^v       In  the  case  of  drugs  and  goods  where  the  adulterations 

^^    cannot  be  readily  discovered,  there  is  nothing  to  offset  the 

more  economical  procedure  of  the  fraudulent  dealer.     The 

_fact  that  it  is   so  difficult  to  procure  pure   drugs   and 

pure  food  would  seem  to  be  most  plausibly  due  to  the  fatal 

competition  of  the  adulterated  article. 

Or,  suppose  a  person  has  a  little  property  invested  in 
some  one  of  the  various  corporations  which  off^er  the 
most  convenient  method  for  placing  small  sums  as 
well  as  large.  This  railroad  defies  the  government  by 
owning  coal  mines  as  well  as  transporting  the  product; 
that  public  service  corporation  has  obtained  its  franchise 
by  bribery ;  this  corporation  is  an  employer  of  child  labor ; 
that  finds  it  less  expensive  to  pay  a  few  damage  suits 
— those  it  cannot  fight  successfully — than  to  adopt  de- 
vices which  will  protect  employees.  Does  a  man,  or  even 
an  institution,  act  morally  if  he  invests  in  such  corpora- 
tions in  which  he  finds  himself  helpless  as  an  individual 
stockholder?     And  if  he  sells  his  stock  at  the  market 


0 


^^m        PRINC 
price  to  invest 


PRINCIPLES  IN  ECONOMIC  ORDER        519 

Ice  to  invest  the  money  elsewhere,  is  it  not  still  the  price 
of  fraud  or  blood?  If,  finally,  he  buys  insurance  for  his 
family's  support,  recent  investigation  has  shown  that  he 
may  have  been  contributing  unawares  to  bribery  of  legis- 
latures, and  to  the  support  of  political  theories  to  which 
he  may  be  morally  opposed.  The  individual  cannot  be 
moral  in  independence.  The  modern  business  collectivism 
forces  a  collective  morality.  Just  as  the  individual  can- 
not resist  the  combination,  so  individual  morality  must 
give  place  to  a  more  robust  or  social  type. 

5.  To  Meet  the  Change  to  Corporate  Agency  and 
Ownership,  Ways  Must  be  Found  to  Restore  Personal 
Control  and  Responsibility.— Freedom  and  responsibility 
must  go  hand  in  hand.  The  "moral  liability  limited' 
theory  cannot  be  accepted  in  the  simple  form  in  which 
it  now  obtains.  If  society  holds  stockholders  responsible, 
they  will  soon  cease  to  elect  managers  merely  on  an  eco- 
nomic basis  and  will  demand  morality.  ;  If  directors  are 
held  personally  responsible  for  their  "legal  department," 
or  union  officials  for  their  committees,  directors  and  offi- 
cials will  find  means  to  know  what  their  subordinates  are 
doing.  "Crime  is  always  personal,"  and  it  is  not  usual 
for  subordinates  to  commit  crimes  for  the  corporation 
against  the  explicit  wishes  of  the  higher  officials.  In  cer- 
tain lines  the  parties  concerned  have  voluntarily  sought 
to  restore  a  more  personal  relation.^  It  has  been  found 
profitable  to  engage  foremen  who  can  get  on  smoothly 
with  workmen.  It  has  proved  to  be  good  economy  to  treat 
men,  whether  they  sell  labor  or  buy  it,  with  respect 
and  fairness. 

The  managers  of  some  of  the  great  public  service  cor- 
porations have  also  recently  shown  a  disposition  to  recog- 
nize some  public  obligations,  with  the  naive  admission  that 
this  has  been  neglected.     Labor  unions  are  coming  to  see 

^  Hayes  Robbins  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  for  June,  1907,  "The 
Personal  Factor  in  the  Labor  Problem." 


520       PRINCIPLES  IN  ECONOMIC  ORDER 

the  need  of  conciliating  public  opinion  if  they  are  to  gain 
their  contests. 

6.  To  Meet  the  Impersonal  Agencies  Society  Must 
Require  Greater  Publicity  and  Express  Its  Moral  Stand- 
ards More  Fully  in  Law. — PubHcitj  is  not  a  cure  for 
bad  practices,  but  it  is  a  powerful  deterrent  agency  so 
long  as  the  offenders  care  for  public  opinion  and  not 
solely  for  the  approval  of  their  own  class.  ^  Professor 
JRpss  ^  maintains  that  in  the  United  States  classes  are 
still  so  loosely  formed  that  general  approval  is  desired 
by  the  leaders.  '"-^^Hence  he  urges  that  it  is  possible  to 
enforce  moral  standards  by  the  "grilling  of  sinners." 
But  to  make  this  "grilling"  a  moral  process  society  needs 
much  more  accurate  information  and  a  more  impartial 
basis  for  selecting  its  sinners  than  present  agencies 
afford.  The  public  press  is  itself  in  many  respects  one 
of  the  most  conspicuous  examples  of  the  purely  economic 
motive.  The  newspaper  or  magazine  must  interest  readers 
and  not  displease  advertisers.  The  news  is  selected,  or 
colored,  or  worked  up  to  suit  particular  classes.  If  a 
speaker  says  what  the  reporter  does  not  regard  as  inter- 
esting he  is  likely  to  find  himself  reported  as  saying 
something  more  striking.  Publicity  bureaus  are  able  to 
point  with  pride  to  the  amount  of  matter,  favorable  to 
certain  interests,  which  they  place  before  the  public  as 
news.  The  particular  interests  singled  out  for  "exposure  " 
are  likely  to  be  determined  more  by  the  anticipated  effects 
on  circulation  or  advertising  than  by  the  merits  of  the 
case.  It  is  scarcely  more  satisfactory  to  leave  all  the 
education  of  public  opinion  to  commercial  control  than 
to  leave  all  elementary  education  to  private  interests. 
Publicity — scientific  investigation  and  public  discussion 
— is  indeed  indispensable,  and  its  greatest  value  is  proba- 
bly not  in  the  exhilarating  discharge  of  righteous  indig- 
nation, but  in  the  positive  elevation  of  standards,  by  giv- 
^  Sin  and  Society. 


^" 


PRINCIPLES  IN  ECONOMIC  ORDER        521 

ing  completer  knowledge  and  showing  the  fruits  of  certain 

practices.     A  large  proportion  of  the  public  will  wish  to 

do  the  right  thing  if  they  can  see  it  clearly,  and  can  have 

•ublic  support,  so  that  right  action  will  not  mean  suicide. 

But  Jhe  logical  way  to  meet  the  impersonal  character^ 

j)f  modern  economic  agencies  is  by  the  moral  conscious- 

^less  embodied  in  an  impersonal  agency,  the  law.  The 
law  is  not  to  be  regarded  chiefly  as  an  agency  for  pun- 
ishing criminals.  It,  in  the  first  place,  defines  a  standard ; 
and,  in  the  next  place,  it  helps  the  morally  disposed  to 
maintain  this  standard  hy  freeing  him  from  unscrupulous 

j^ompetition.     It  is  a  general  principle  that  to  resort  ta... 

^the  law  is  an  ethical  gain  only  when  the  getting  something 
done  is  more  important  than  to  get  it  done  from  the 
right  motive.  This  evidently  applies  to  acts  of  corporate 
bodies.  We  do  not  care  for  their  motives.  We  are  not 
concerned  to  save  their  souls.  We  are  concerned  only; 
for  resyltg — rjust  the  place  where  we  have  seen  that  the 
personal  responsibility  breaks  down.  The  value  of  good 
motives  and  moral  purpose  is  in  this  case  located  in  those 

^who  strive  to  secure  and  execute  progressive  legislation 
for  the  public  good,  and  in  the  personal  spirit  with  which 
this  is  accepted  and  carried  out  by  officials.^  -^       \ 

7.  Every  Member  of  Society  Should  Share  in  Its 
Wealth  and  in  the  Values  Made  Possible  by  It — The 
quantitative  basis  of  division  and  the  method  for  giving 
each  a  share  belong  to  the  unsettled  problems.  But  the 
worth  and  dignity  of  every  human  being  of  moral  capac- 
ity is  fundamental  in  nearly  every  moral  system  of  modern 
times.  It  is  implicit  in  the  Christian  doctrine  of  the 
worth  of  the  soul,  in  the  Kantian  doctrine  of  personality, 
in  the  Benthamic  dictum,  "every  man  to  count  as  one." 
It  is  imbedded  in  our  democratic  theory  and  institutions. 
]  With  the  leveling  and  equalizing  of  physical  and  mental 
j)ower  brought  about  by  modern  inventions  and  the  spread 
/       *  See  Florence  Kelley,  Some  Ethical  Gains  through  Legislation. 


^ 


r 


^7^0^         I 


522       PRINCIPLES  IN  ECONOMIC  ORDER 

of  intelligence,  no  State  is  permanently  safe  except  on  a 
foundation  of  justice.v  And  justice  cannot  be  funda- 
mentally in  contradiction  with  the  essence  of  democracy. 
This  means  that  wealth  must  be  produced,  distributed, 
and  owned  justly:  that  is,  so  as  to  promote  the  indi- 
viduality of  every  member  of  society,  while  at  the  same 
time  he  must  always  function  as  a  member,  not  as  an 
individual.  In  defining  justice  some  will  place  freedom 
first;  others,  a  standard  of  living.  Some  will  seek  fair- 
ness by  distributing  to  each  an  actual  share  of  the 
goods ;  others,  by  giving  to  each  a  fair  chance  to  get 
his  share  of  goods.  Others  again  have  held  that  if  no 
moral  purpose  is  proposed  and  each  seeks  to  get  what  he 
can  for  himself,  the  result  will  be  a  just  distribution  be- 
cause of  the  beneficent  effects  of  competition.  Still  others 
have  considered  that  if  the  economic  process  has  once  been 
established  on  the  basis  of  contracts  rather  than  status 
or  slavery,  justice  may  be  regarded  as  the  maintenance 
of  these  contracts,  whatever  the  effect  in  actual  benefits. 
These  views  will  be  considered  under  the  next  topic  as 
unsettled  problems. 


LITERATURE 

In  addition  to  the  works  cited  at  the  close  of  the  last  chapter, 
Giddings,  The  Costs  of  Progress,  in  Democracy  and  Empire,  1901; 
Bosanquet  (Mrs.  B.),  The  Standard  of  Life,  1898;  Bosanquet,  B., 
Aspects  of  the  Social  Problem,  1895;  Stephen,  Social  Bights  and 
Duties,  1896;  Tufts,  Some  Contributions  of  Psychology  toward  the 
Conception  of  Justice^  Philosophical  Review,  xv.,  1906,  pp.  361-79; 
Woods,  Democracy,  a  New  Unfolding  of  Human  Power,  in  Studies 
in  Philosophy  and  Psychology  (Garman  Commemorative  Volume), 
1906. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

UNSETTLED  PROBLEMS  IN  THE  ECONOMIC 

ORDER 

Under  this  head  we  propose  to  consider  one  general 
and  three  special  problems  on  which  society  is  at  present 
at  work,  framing  new  moral  standards  to  meet  new  con- 
ditions. Many  of  the  questions  involved  in  the  new  order 
marshal  themselves  under  a  single  antithesis.  Will  the 
moral  values  of  wealth  be  most  fully  secured  and  justly 
distributed  by  leaving  to  individuals  the  greatest  possible 
freedom  and  holding  them  morally  responsible,  or  by  social 
agency  and  control?  The  first  theory  is  known  as  indi- 
'vidualism.  The  most  convenient  term  for  the  second 
position  would  be  socialism. 

Socialism,  however,  is,  for  many,  an  epithet  rather  than 
a  scientific  conception.  It  is  supposed  to  mean  necessarily 
the  abolition  of  all  private  enterprise  or  private  property. 
In  its  extreme  form  it  might  mean  this,  as  individualism 
in  its  extreme  form  would  mean  anarchy.  But  as  a  prac- 
tical ethical  proposition  we  have  before  us  neither  the 
abolition  of  public  agency  and  control — extreme  indi- 
vidualism— nor  the  abolition  of  private  agency  and  con- 
trol. We  have  the  problem  of  getting  the  proper  amount 
of  each  in  order  that  the  highest  morality  may  prevail. 
Each  theory  professes  to  desire  the  fullest  development 
and  freedom  of  the  individual.  The  individualist  seeks 
it  through  formal  freedom  and  would  limit  public  agency 
to  a  minimum.  The  socialist  is  willing  to  permit  limita- 
tions on  formal  freedom  in  order  to  secure  the  "real" 
freedom  which  he  regards   as  more  important   and  sub- 

523 


524   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

stantial.  Between  the  extremes,  and  borrowing  from  each, 
is  a  somewhat  indefinite  programme  known  as  the  demand 
for  equal  opportunity.  Let  us  consider  each  in  a  brief 
statement  and  then  in  a  more  thorough  analysis. 


§  1.    GENERAIi    STATEMENT    OF    THE    POSITIONS    OF    INDIVID- 
UALISM AND   OF   PUBLIC   AGENCY  AND   CONTROL 

I.  Individualism. — Individualism  ^  believes  that  each 
man  can  secure  his  own  welfare  better  than  any  one  else 
can  secure  it  for  him.  It  further  holds  that  society  is 
made  up  of  individuals,  and  hence,  if  each  is  provided  for, 
the  welfare  of  the  whole"  is  secured.  Such  goods  as  are 
social  can  be  secured  by  voluntary  association.  Believing 
that  the  course  of  civilization  has  been  "from  status  to 
contract,"  it  makes  free  contract  its  central  principle. 
It  should  be  the  chief  business  of  organized  society  to 
maintain  and  safeguard  this  freedom.  It  locates  the 
important  feature  of  freedom  precisely  in  the  act  of 
assent,  rather  than  in  any  consideration  of  whether  the 
after  consequences  of  the  assent  are  good  or  bad ;  nor  does 
it  ask  what  motives  (force  and  fraud  aside)  brought  about 
the  assent,  or  whether  there  was  any  other  alternative.  In 
other  words,  it  regards  formal  freedom  as  fundamental.  If 
not  in  itself  all  that  can  be  desired,  it  is  the  first  step,  and 
the  only  one  which  law  need  recognize.  The  individual  may 
be  trusted  to  take  other  steps,  if  protected  in  this.  The 
only  restriction  upon  individual  freedom  should  be  that  it 
must  not  interfere  with  the  equal  freedom  of  others.  In 
the  economic  sphere  this  restriction  would  mean,  "must 
not  interfere  by  force."  The  theory  does  not  regard  eco- 
nomic pressure  by  competition  as  interference.  Hence 
it  favors  free  competition.  Leaving  out  of  account  be- 
nevolence, it  holds  that  in  business  each  should  be  allowed, 

*  See  above,  pp.  428  f.,  471-6,  483. 


INDIVIDUALISM  AND  PUBLIC  AGENCY     5%5 

or  even  recommended,  to  seek  his  own  advantage.  But 
when  the  question  as  to  the  justice  of  the  distribution 
reached  by  this  method  is  raised,  a  division  appears  be- 
tween the  democratic  individuaHsts  and  the  ^'survival  of 
the  fittest*'  individuahsts.  The  democratic  individuaHsts 
— Adam  Smith,  Bentham,  Mill  ^ — ^believed  that  individ- 
ualism would  promote  the  welfare  of  all  members  of 
society.  The  "survival  of  the  fittest"  school  maintains 
that  the  welfare  of  the  race  or  of  civilization  depends  on 
the  sifting  and  selecting  process  known  as  the  "struggle 
for  existence."  If  the  "fittest"  are  thus  selected  and  sur- 
vive, it  matters  not  so  much  what  is  the  lot  of  the  rest. 
We  must  choose  between  progress  through  aristocratic 
selection  and  degeneration  through  democratic  leveling. 

2.  Theory  of  Public  Agency  and  Control. — SociaHsm 
(using  the  word  in  a  broad  sense)  holds  that  society  should 
secure  to  all  its  members  the  goods  of  life.  It  holds  that 
an  unrestrained  liberty  of  struggle  for  existence  may 
secure  the  survival  of  the  strongest,  but  not  necessarily 
of  the  morally  best.  The  individualist's  theory  emphasizes 
formal  freedom.  "Seek  first  freedom  and  all  other  things 
will  be  added."  The  socialist  view  emphasizes  the  con- 
tent. It  would  have  all  members  of  society  share  in  edu- 
cation, wealth,  and  all  the  goods  of  life.  In  this  it  agrees 
with  democratic  individualism.  But  it  considers  this  im- 
possible on  the  basis  of  individual  effort.  To  hold  that 
society  as  a  whole  can  do  nothing  for  the  individual  either 
ignores  social  goods  or  supposes  the  social  will,  so  power- 
ful for  democracy  in  the  political  sphere,  to  be  helpless 
and  futile  in  the  economic  world.  To  assume  that  all 
the  control  of  economic  distribution — the  great  field  of 
justice — may  be  left  to  individual  freedom  and  agency, 
is  as  archaic  as  to  leave  the  collection  of  taxes,  the  ad- 
ministration of  provinces,  and  the  education  of  citizens  to 

*  In  his  later  years  Mill  had  much  more  confidence  in  the  value 
of  social  agency. 


526   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

private  enterprise.  It  regards  the  unregulated  struggle 
for  existence  as  economically  wasteful  and  morally  vicious, 
both  in  its  inequality  of  distribution  and  in  the  motives 
of  egoism  on  which  it  relies.  Individuahsm,  on  the  other 
hand,  so  far  as  it  is  intelligent  and  does  not  lump  socialism 
with  anarchy  and  all  other  criticisms  on  the  established 
order,  regards  socialism  as  ignoring  the  supreme  im- 
portance of  active  personal  effort,  and  the  value  of  free- 
dom as  the  keynote  to  progress. 

3.  Equal  Opportunity. — ^An  intermediate  view  has  for 
its  maxim,  "equal  opportunity."  It  holds  with  individual- 
ism that  the  active  personality  is  to  be  stimulated  and 
made  a  prime  end.  But  because  it  believes  that  not  merely 
a  few  but  all  persons  should  be  treated  as  ends,  it  finds 
individualism  condemned.  For  it  holds  that  an  unregu- 
lated struggle  for  existence  does  not  secure  the  end  indi- 
vidualism professes  to  seek.  When  individuals  start  in 
the  race  handicapped  by  differences  in  birth,  education, 
family,  business,  friends,  and  inherited  wealth,  there  is 
no  selection  of  ability;  there  is  selection  of  the  privileged. 
Hence  it  would  borrow  so  much  from  socialism  as  to  give 
each  individual  a  "fair  start."  This  would  include  public 
schools,  and  an  undefined  amount  of  provision  for  sani- 
tation, and  for  governmental  regulation  of  the  stronger. 

It  is  manifest,  however,  that  this  theory  of  the  "square 
deal"  is  a  name  for  a  general  aim  rather  than  for  a 
definite  programme.  For  a  "square  deal,"  or  equality  of 
opportunity,  might  be  interpreted  to  call  for  a  great 
variety  of  concrete  schemes,  ranging  all  the  way  from  an 
elementary  education  up  to  public  ownership  of  all  the  tools 
for  production,  and  to  abolition  of  the  right  to  bequeath  or 
inherit  property.  The  peoples  of  America,  Europe,  and 
Australasia  are  at  present  working  out  policies  which  com- 
bine in  various  degrees  the  individualistic  and  the  socialis- 
tic views.  Most  have  public  schools.  Some  have  provi- 
sion for  old  age  and  accident  through  either  mutual  or 


INDIVIDUALISM  ANALYZED  527 

State  systems  of  insurance  and  pensions.  Let  us  analyze 
the  moral  aspects  of  the  two  opposing  theories  more 
thoroughly.  It  is  obvious  that  the  third  view  is  only 
one  of  a  number  of  mediating  positions. 

§  2,    INDIVIDUALISM    OR    FREE    CONTRACT    ANALYZED :    ITS 

VALUES 

Efficiency  in  Production. — Individuahsm  can  make  out 
a  strong  case  in  respect  to  several  of  the  ethical  qualities 
which  are  demanded :  viz.,  efficiency  in  production  of  goods, 
stimulation  of  active  and  forceful  character,  promotion 
of  freedom  and  responsibility,  encouragement  to  wide 
diversification  of  occupation  and  thus  of  services,  and, 
finally,  the  supply  to  society  of  the  kinds  of  goods  which 
society  wants.  It  would  be  absurd  to  credit  the  enormous 
increase  in  production  of  wealth  during  the  past  century 
to  individualism  alone,  ignoring  the  contributions  of 
science  and  education  which  have  been  mainly  made  under 
social  auspices.  It  would  be  as  absurd  to  credit  all  the 
gains  of  the  century  in  civilization  and  freedom  to  indi- 
vidualism as  it  would  be  to  charge  all  the  wretchedness  and 
iniquity  of  the  century  to  this  same  policy.  But,  setting 
aside  extravagant  claims,  it  can  scarcely  be  doubted 
that  Adam  Smith's  contentions  for  greater  individual 
freedom  have  been  justified  as  regards  the  tests  named. 
Granting  that  the  great  increase  in  amount  and  variety 
of  production,  and  in  means  of  communication  and  distri- 
bution, has  been  primarily  due  to  two  agencies,  the  ma- 
chine and  association,  it  remains  true  that  individualism 
has  permitted  and  favored  association  and  has  stimulated 
invention. 

Initiative  and  Responsibility. — Moreover,  the  general 
policy  of  turning  over  to  individuals  the  power  and  re- 
sponsibility to  regulate  their  own  acts,  is  in  accord  with 
one  great  feature  of  moral  development.     The  evolution 


528   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

of  moral  personality,  as  traced  in  our  early  chapters^ 
shows  the  individual  at  first  living  as  a  member  of  a  kin- 
ship group  which  determines  his  economic  as  well  as  his 
religious  and  social  life,  and  permits  him  neither  to  strike 
out  independently,  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  to  suffer  want 
so  long  as  the  group  has  supplies.  Individual  initiative 
and  responsibility  have  steadily  increased,  and  the  eco- 
nomic development  has  undoubtedly  strengthened  the 
development  of  religious,  political,  and  moral  freedom. 
It  is  the  combination  of  these  which  gives  the  person  of 
to-day  the  worth  and  dignity  belonging  to  autonomy, 
self-government,  and  democracy. 

Regulation  of  Production. — Further,  it  may  be  said 
that  supply  and  demand,  individualism's  method  of  regu- 
lating prices  and  the  kinds  of  goods  produced,  not  only 
accords  with  a  principle  of  freedom,  but  also  gets 
those  goods  made  which  society  most  needs  or  wants. 
If  goods  of  a  certain  kind  are  scarce,  the  high  price  stimu- 
lates production.  While  it  permits  crises,  panics,  and 
hardship,  it  at  least  throws  the  burden  of  avoiding  hard- 
ship upon  the  foresight  of  a  great  many:  namely,  all 
producers,  rather  than  upon  a  few  persons  who  might  be 
designated  for  the  purpose.  In  thus  providing  a  method 
to  find  out  what  society  wants  and  how  much,  it  is  per- 
forming a  social  service,  and,  as  we  have  pointed  out,  it 
is  none  the  less  a  service  because  the  goods  are  to  be 
paid  for;  it  is  all  the  more  so  because  they  can  be  paid 
for.     So  far,  then,  individualism  has  a  strong  case. 

§  3.    CEITICISMS    UPON    INDIVIDUALISM 

There  is  undoubtedly  great  waste  in  some  of  its  meth- 
ods, e.g.,  its  advertising  and  its  competitions,  but  the 
most  serious  objections  to  individualism  are  not  to  be 
found  here ;  they  arise  in  connection  with  the  other  ethical 
criteria  of  economic  morality.     They  fall  chiefly  under 


CRITICISMS  UPON  INDIVIDUALISM       529 

two  heads.  (1)  Does  individualism  provide  for  real  as 
well  as  formal  freedom?  (2)  Does  it  distribute  the  bene- 
fits widely  or  to  the  few?  Does  it  distribute  them  justly 
or  unjustly? 

It  Does  Not  Secure  Real  Freedom — The  distinction 
between  real  and  formal  ^  freedom  has  been  forced  into 
prominence  by  several  causes.  The  division  of  labor 
trains  a  man  for  a  specific  kind  of  work.  If  there  is 
no  opening  in  this  he  is  unable  to  find  work.  The  continual 
invention  of  improved  machinery  is  constantly  displacing 
particular  sets  of  workers  and  rendering  their  special 
training  worthless.  A  business  panic  causes  immediate 
discharge  of  thousands  of  laborers.  A  "trust"  closes 
several  of  its  shops,  and  workmen  who  have  purchased 
homes  must  lose  their  jobs  or  their  investments,  or  per- 
haps both.  The  employer  is  no  less  limited  in  his  con- 
duct by  the  methods  of  competing  firms;  but  it  is  the 
wage-workers  who  have  felt  this  lack  of  real  freedom 
most  keenly.  Theoretically,  no  one  is  forced  to  labor. 
Every  one  is  free  to  choose  whether  he  will  work,  and 
what  work  he  will  do.  But  in  effect,  freedom  of  choice 
depends  for  its  value  upon  what  the  alternative  is.  If 
the  choice  is,  do  this  or — starve — the  freedom  is  not  worth 
much.  Formal  freedom  excludes  constraint  by  the  direct 
control  or  will  of  others.  It  excludes  violence  or  fear  of 
violence.  But  subjection  to  the  stress  or  fear  of  want, 
or  to  the  limits  imposed  by  ignorance,  is  just  as  fatal  to 
freedom.  Hunger  is  as  coercive  as  violence ;  ignorance  fet- 
ters as  hopelessly  as  force.  Whether  a  man  has  any  choice 
of  occupation,  employment,  residence,  or  wage,  depends 
on  his  physical  strength,  education,  family  ties,  and  accu- 
mulated resources,  and  on  the  pressure  of  present  need. 
To  speak  of  free  contract  where  there  is  gross  inequality 
between  the  parties,  is  to  use  a  mere  form  of  words.    Free 

»  See  above,  p.  437  f. 


530   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

contract  in  this  case  means  simply  the  right  of  the 
stronger  to  exploit  the  weaker. 

Individualism  and  Justice. — Individualists,  as  stated, 
belong  to  two  very  different  schools,  which  we  may  call 
the  democratic  and  aristocratic,  or  perhaps  more  cor- 
rectly, if  we  may  coin  a  word,  "oligocratic."  Democratic 
individualism  would  have  every  man  count  as  one.  It 
would  distribute  benefits  widely.  It  holds  that  since  so- 
ciety is  made  up  of  individuals  all  social  goods  will  be 
secured  if  each  individual  seeks  and  finds  his  own.  Aris- 
tocratic individualism  ^  has  been  reenforced  by  the  Dar- 
winian theory  of  the  struggle  for  existence  as  a  condi- 
tion for  "survival  of  the  fittest,"  by  race  prejudice,  and 
by  imperialism.  It  holds  that  civilization  is  for  the  few 
"best,"  not  necessarily  for  the  many.  Progress  lies 
through  the  selection  of  the  few  efficient,  masterful,  ag- 
gressive individuals,  races,  or  nations.  Individualism  is 
a  policy  which  favors  these  few.  It  is  Nature's  method 
of  dealing.  It  is  of  course  regrettable  that  there  should 
be  weak,  backward,  ineffective  individuals  or  races,  but 
their  exploitation  serves  the  advance  of  the  rest,  and 
benevolence  or  charity  may  mitigate  the  most  painful 
results. 

The  older  economists  of  democratic  individualism  could 
properly  claim  two  respects  in  which  economic  justice  was 
furthered  by  economic  processes  under  free  management 
and  exchange.  The  social  body  is  in  truth  made  up  of 
members,  and  the  old  policy  had  been  to  tie  up  the  mem- 
bers to  make  the  body  grow.  It  did  promote  justice 
to  remove  needless  and  excessive  restrictions.  In  the  sec- 
ond place,  it  is  true,  as  the  economists  insisted,  that  in 
a  free  exchange  each  party  profits  if  he  gets  what  he 
wants.  There  is  mutual  benefit,  and  so  far  as  this  goes 
there  is  an  element  of  justice.  But  while  the  benefit  may 
be  mutual,   the   amount   of  advantage  each  gets   is  not 

*  See  above,  pp.  368  ff. 


CRITICISMS  UPON  INDIVIDUALISM       531 

necessarily  the  same,  and  if  the  party  who  has  greater 
shrewdness  or  resources  takes  advantage  of  a  great  need 
on  the  part  of  the  other,  the  result  may  be  a  very  unequal 
division.  Exchanges  of  a  birthright  for  a  mess  of  pot- 
tage will  be  common.  Very  well,  says  the  individualist, 
Esau  will  know  better  next  time — or  if  he  doesn't,  he  is 
an  object  for  charity.  But  the  trouble  is  that  even  if 
Esau  does  "know  better"  he  is  in  even  poorer  condition 
next  time  to  make  a  bargain  if  his  birthright  is  gone; 
besides,  if  starvation  or  misery  for  himself  or  his  family 
is  his  only  alternative,  what  good  will  it  do  him  to  "know 
better".?  Can  the  result,  then,  be  just  or  fair.?  This 
depends  on  how  we  define  "just"  and  "fair."  If  we  take 
a  purely  formal  view  and  make  formal  freedom  of  con- 
tract the  only  criterion,  then  any  price  is  fair  which  both 
parties  agree  to.  The  law  for  the  most  part  takes  this 
view,  assuming  absence  of  force  or  fraud.  But  this  leaves 
out  of  account  everything  except  the  bare  formal  act  of 
assent.  It  is  too  abstract  a  conception  of  personality  on 
which  to  base  a  definition  of  justice.  To  get  the  true 
organic  relation  of  mutual  service  and  benefit  by  a  system 
of  individualism  we  must  have  the  two  parties  to  the  bar- 
gain equal.  But  in  a  large  part  of  the  exchange  of  busi- 
ness and  services  the  two  parties  are  not  equal.  One  has 
greater  shrewdness,  better  education,  more  knowledge  of 
the  market,  more  accumulated  resources,  and,  therefore, 
less  pressing  need  than  the  other.  The  moral  conscious- 
ness will  call  prices  or  contracts  unfair  where  the  stronger 
takes  advantage  of  the  weaker's  necessities,  even  if  the  law 
does  not. 

Competition. — The  fact  of  competition  is  depended 
upon  by  the  individualist  to  obviate  the  disadvantages 
of  the  weaker  party.  If  A  is  ignorant  of  the  market,  B 
may  impose  upon  him ;  but  if  C  and  D  are  competing  with 
B  for  A's  goods  or  services,  A  will  soon  find  out  what 
they  are  "worth."     That  is,  he  will  get  for  them  a  social 


632      UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

and  not  a  purely  individual  valuation.  There  is  doubt- 
less such  a  gain  to  A.  But  in  considering  competition 
as  removing  the  objections  to  the  unfairness  possible  in  bar- 
gaining, we  must  bear  in  mind  two  things.  First,  com- 
petition cuts  both  ways.  It  helps  A  when  several  com- 
pete for  his  goods  or  labor ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  may 
ruin  one  of  the  competitors.  If  A  is  a  laborer,  it  is  a 
good  thing  if  X,  Y,  and  Z,  employers,  compete  for  his 
services.  But  if  the  boot  is  on  the  other  foot,  if  B,  C, 
and  D  also  are  laborers  and  compete  with  A  for  a  place, 
we  have  the  conditions  which  may  lead  to  the  sweat-shop. 
Whether  there  is  any  better  way  to  avoid  unequal  distri- 
bution will  be  considered  later.  The  second  and  seem- 
ingly fatal  objection  to  competition  as  a  means  to  justice, 
is  that  free  competition  under  an  individualistic  system 
tends  to  destroy  itself.  For  the  enormous  powers  which 
the  new  forms  of  economic  agency  and  technique  give  to 
the  individual  who  can  wield  them,  enable  him  to  crush 
competitors.  The  process  has  been  repeated  over  and 
over  within  the  past  few  years  in  various  fields.  The 
only  way  in  which  a  semblance  of  competition  has  been 
maintained  in  railroad  business  has  been  by  appeal  to  the 
courts.  This  is  an  appeal  to  maintain  individualism  by 
checking  individualism,  and  as  might  be  expected  from 
such  a  contradictory  procedure,  has  accomplished  little. 
Nor  can  it  be  maintained  that  the  evils  may  be  obviated, 
as  Spencer  holds,  by  private  restraints  on  excessive  com- 
petition. As  already  pointed  out,  if  one  of  a  body  of 
competitors  is  unscrupulous,  the  rest  are  necessarily  at  a 
disadvantage.  Under  present  conditions  individualism  can- 
not guarantee,  and  in  many  cases  cannot  permit,  just  dis- 
tribution and  a  true  organic  society. 

The  other  school  of  individualists  is  not  disturbed  by 
inequality  of  goods.  It  frankly  accedes  to  the  logic  of 
unrestrained  competition.  It  stakes  its  case  upon  the 
importance  for  social  welfare  of  the  exceptionally  gifted 


CRITICISMS  UPON  INDIVIDUALISM       533 

few.  It  is  important  to  have  their  services.  It  can  have 
them  only  on  terms  which  they  set,  as  they  will  not  work 
unless  there  is  sufficient  motive.  It  is,  on  this  view,  per- 
fectly just  that  all  the  enormous  increase  of  wealth  due 
to  modern  methods  should  go  to  the  few  leaders,  for  their 
ability  has  produced  it  all.  "The  able  minority  of  men 
who  direct  the  labor  of  the  majority  are  the  true  pro- 
ducers of  that  amount  of  wealth  by  which  the  annual 
total  output,  in  any  given  community,  exceeds  what  would 
have  been  produced  by  the  laborers  if  left  to  their  own 
devices,  whether  working  as  isolated  units  or  in  small 
self -organized  groups,  and  controlled  by  no  knowledge  or 
faculties  but  such  as  are  possessed  in  common  by  any 
one  who  can  handle  a  spade  or  lay  one  brick  upon 
another."  ^ 

Either  from  the  standpoint  of  natural  rights  or  from 
that  of  utilitarianism  it  is  proper,  according  to  this 
school,  that  all  the  increasing  wealth  of  society,  now  and 
in  all  future  time,  should  go  to  the  few.  For,  on  the  one 
view,  it  belongs  to  the  few  since  they  have  produced  it; 
and,  on  the  other,  it  must  be  given  them  if  society  is  to 
have  their  services.  It  is  possible  they  may  not  claim 
it  all  for  their  exclusive  possession.  They  may  be  pleased 
to  distribute  some  of  it  in  gifts.  But  this  is  for  them 
to  say.  The  logical  method  for  carrying  out  this  pro- 
gramme would  require  an  absolute  abandonment  by  the 
people  as  a  whole,  or  by  their  representatives,  or  the 
courts,  of  any  attempt  to  control  economic  conditions. 
The  courts  would  be  limited  to  enforcing  contracts  and 
would  cease  to  recognize  considerations  of  public  interest 
except  in  so  far  as  these  were  accepted  by  the  able  minority. 
All  such  legislation  as  imposes  any  check  upon  the  free- 
dom of  the  individual  is  mischievous.  Under  this  head 
would  presumably  come  regulation  of  child  labor,  of 
hours,  of  sanitary  conditions,  of  charges  by  railroads, 

*W.  H.  Mallock,  Socialism, 


634   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

gas  companies,  and  other  public  service  corporations. 
Graded  income  or  inheritance  taxes  are  also  to  be  con- 
demned from  this  standpoint.  It  should  in  fairness  be 
added  that  while  its  upholders  do  not  allege  as  their  main 
argument  that  individualism  is  for  the  interest  of  the 
many,  they  hold,  nevertheless,  that  the  many  are  really 
better  off  under  individualism  than  under  socialism.  For 
since  all  the  increase  in  wealth  is  due  to  the  able  few  whom 
individualism  produces,  and  since  some  of  this  increase,  in 
cases  where  the  few  compete  for  the  custom  or  labor  of 
the  many,  may  fall  to  the  share  of  the  many  or  else 
be  given  them  outright  by  the  more  generous,  it  appears 
that  the  only  hope  for  the  many  lies  through  the  few. 

The  general  naturalistic  theory  has  been  discussed  in 
Chapter  XVIII.  Here  it  is  only  necessary  to  point  out 
that  it  is  a  misreading  of  evolution  to  suppose  unregu- 
lated competition  to  be  its  highest  category  of  prog- 
ress, and  that  it  is  a  misinterpretation  of  ethics  to  assume 
that  might  is  right.  With  the  dawn  of  higher  forms  of 
life,  cooperation  and  sympathy  prove  stronger  forces 
for  progress  than  ruthless  competition.  The  "struggle" 
for  any  existence  that  has  a  claim  to  moral  recognition 
must  be  a  struggle  for  more  than  physical  existence  or 
survival  of  force.  It  must  be  a  struggle  for  a  moral 
existence,  an  existence  of  rational  and  social  beings  on 
terms  of  mutual  sympathy  and  service  as  well  as  of  full 
individuality.  Any  claim  for  an  economic  process,  if  it 
is  to  be  a  moral  claim,  must  make  its  appeal  on  moral 
grounds  and  to  moral  beings.  If  it  recognizes  only  a 
few  as  having  worth,  then  it  can  appeal  only  to  these. 
These  few  have  no  moral  right  to  complain  if  the  many, 
whom  they  do  not  recognize,  refuse  to  recognize  them. 

Summary  of  the  Ethics  of  Individualism. — Individual- 
ism provides  well  for  production  of  quantity  and  kinds 
required  of  goods  and  services ;  for  activity  and  formal 
freedom.     Under  present  conditions  of  organization  and 


CRITICISMS  UPON  INDIVIDUALISM       535 

modern  methods  it  cannot  be  made  to  serve  a  democratic 
conception  of  justice,  but  inevitably  passes  over  into  a 
struggle  for  preeminence,  in  which  the  strong  and  less 
scrupulous  will  have  the  advantage.  It  can  be  treated 
as  just  only  if  justice  is  defined  as  what  is  according 
to  contract  (formal  freedom)  ;  or  if  the  welfare  of  cer- 
tain classes  or  individual  members  of  society  is  regarded 
as  of  subordinate  importance;  or,  finally,  if  it  is  held 
that  this  welfare  is  to  be  obtained  only  incidentally,  as 
gift,  not  directly  through  social  action.  The  criticism  on 
individualism  is  then  that  under  a  collective  system  like 
that  of  the  present,  it  does  scant  justice  to  most  indi- 
viduals. It  leaves  the  many  out  from  all  active  partici- 
pation in  progress  or  morality.^ 


LITERATURE 

Individualism  and  Socialism  are  discussed  in  the  works  of  Hadley, 
Veblen,  Hobson,  Spencer,  Marx,  George,  already  cited;  cf.  also 
Menger,  The  Bight  to  the  Whole  Produce  of  Labor,  1899 ;  Ely,  Social- 
ism and  Social  Reform,  1894- ;  Bosanquet,  Individualism  and  Socialism, 
in  The  Civilization  of  Christendom,  1893;  Fite,  The  Theory  of  Democ- 
racy, International  Journal  of  Ethics,  xxviii.  (1907),  pp.  1-18;  Hux- 
ley, Administrative  Nihilism,  in  Essays;  Godwin's  Political  Justice, 
1793,  raised  many  of  the  fundamental  questions.  Recent  representa- 
tive Individualistic  works  are:  Spencer,  Social  Statics,  The  Man 
versus  the  State,  various  essays  in  Vol.  III.  of  Essays;  Sumner, 
What  Social  Classes  Oice  to  Each  Other,  1883;  Donisthorpe,  Indi- 
vidualism, 1889;  Harris,  Inequality  and  Progress,  1897;  Mallock, 
Socialism,  1907.  On  Socialism:  Fabian  Essays  in  Socialism,  edited 
by  Shaw,  London,  1890,  New  York,  1891;  Spargo,  Socialism,  1906; 
Marx  and  Engels,  The  Communist  Manifesto,  Eng.  tr.;  Reeve,  The 
Cost  of  Competition,  1906;  Rae,  Contemporary  Socialism,  1891; 
Hunter,  Socialists  at  T^orA;,  1908;  Wells,  New  Worlds  for  Old,  1907. 

*  Above,  p.  472. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

UNSETTLED    PROBLEMS    IN    THE    ECONOMIC 
ORDER  (Continued) 

§  4.  THE  THEOKY  OF  PUBLIC  AGENCY  AND  CONTROL 

The  various  theories  of  public  direction,  including 
socialism  in  the  technical  sense,  are  primarily  interested 
in  the  just  distribution  of  goods.  It  is  not  so  much  "How 
many  goods  can  be  produced?"  as  "Who  is  to  get  them?" 
Individualism  was  chiefly  concerned  in  increasing  public 
wealth,  assuming  (in  the  case  of  the  democratic  individ- 
ualists) that  all  would  get  the  benefit.  Socialism  is  more 
concerned  that  the  producing  persons  shall  not  be  sacri- 
ficed, and  that  each  member  shall  benefit  by  the  result. 
Public  agency  and  control  might  assert  itself  (1)  as 
a  method  of  production,  (2)  as  a  method  of  distribution 
of  goods  and  returns,  (3)  as  a  method  of  property.  It 
is  important  to  note  at  the  outset  that  all  civilized  peoples 
have  some  degree  of  social  direction  in  each  of  these 
fields.  (1)  Practically  all  peoples  collect  taxes,  coin 
money,  carry  mails,  protect  life  and  property,  and  supply 
such  elementary  demands  as  those  for  water  and  drainage, 
through  State  or  municipal  agency  instead  of  leaving  it 
to  private  initiative.  And  in  every  one  of  the  instances 
the  word  was  formerly  done  privately.  (2)  Under  distribu- 
tion, all  progressive  peoples  give  education  through  the 
State.  Further,  the  benefits  of  the  mail  service  are  dis- 
tributed not  in  proportion  to  receipts,  but  on  other  princi- 
ples based  on  social  welfare.  (3)  As  a  method  of  prop- 
erty-holding, all  civilized  peoples  hold  certain  goods  for 


SOCIETY  AS  AGENCY  OF  PRODUCTION     537 

common  use,  and  in  the  United  States,  after  a  period  in 
which  it  has  been  the  poHcy  to  distribute  for  httle  or  no 
compensation  public  lands,  public  franchises,  and  public 
goods  of  all  kinds,  the  public  policy  is  now  not  only  to 
retain  large  tracts  for  forest  reserve,  but  to  construct 
irrigation  plants,  and  to  provide  public  parks,  play- 
grounds, and  other  forms  of  property  to  be  used  for 
common  advantage.  Just  as  the  individualist  does  not 
necessarily  carry  his  doctrine  to  the  extreme  of  dispensing 
with  all  social  agency,  at  least  in  the  matters  of  public 
protection  and  public  health,  so  the  socialist  does  not 
necessarily  wish  to  abolish  private  property  or  private 
enterprise.  We  have,  then,  to  consider  briefly  the  ethical 
aspects  of  public  agency  for  production,  public  control 
over  distribution,  public  holding  of  wealth. 


§  5.    SOCIETY    AS    AGENCY    OF    PRODUCTION 

The  advantage  claimed  for  society  as  an  agent  of 
production  is  not  primarily  greater  efficiency,  although 
it  is  claimed  that  the  present  method  is  enormously  wasteful 
except  where  there  already  is  private  monopoly.  Nor  is 
it  in  the  social  service  rendered  by  providing  great  variety 
of  goods,  and  of  the  kinds  most  wanted.  It  is  rather 
(1)  that  in  the  case  of  public  service  enterprises,  such 
as  transportation  or  lighting,  fairness  to  the  various 
shippers,  localities,  and  other  users  can  be  secured  only 
through  public  control  or  operation.  These  services  are 
as  indispensable  to  modern  life  as  air  or  navigation.  Only 
by  public  agency  can  discrimination  be  avoided.  (2) 
That  the  prizes  to  be  gained  are  here  so  enormous  that 
bribery  and  corruption  are  inevitable  under  private  man- 
agement. (3)  That  the  profits  arising  from  the  growth 
of  the  community  belong  to  the  community,  and  can  only 
be  secured  if  the  community  owns  and  operates  such 
agencies  of  public  service  as  transportation,   communi- 


538   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

cation,  and  in  cities  water  supply  and  lighting.  (4) 
That  the  method  of  individualistic  production  is  reckless 
of  child  life  and  in  general  of  the  health  of  workmen. 
Great  Britain  is  already  fearing  a  deterioration  in 
physical  stature  and  capacity.  (5)  The  motive  of  self- 
interest,  relied  upon  and  fostered  by  individualism,  is  anti- 
social. How  can  morality  be  expected  to  improve  when 
the  fundamental  agency  and  method  of  business  and  in- 
dustry is  contradictory  to  morality?  (6)  More  complete 
socialism  maintains  that,  under  modern  capitalism,  a  dis- 
proportionate share  is  sure  to  fall  to  the  capitalist,  and, 
more  than  this,  to  the  great  capitalist.  Modern  produc- 
tion is  complex  and  expensive.  It  requires  an  enormous 
plant;  the  capitalist,  not  the  workman,  has  the  tools, 
and  can  therefore  charge  what  he  pleases.  The  small 
capitalist  cannot  undertake  competition  with  the  great 
capitalist,  for  the  latter  can  undersell  him  until  he  drives 
him  from  business,  and  can  then  recoup  himself  by  greater 
gains.  Hence  the  only  way  to  secure  fair  distribution  is 
through  social  ownership  of  the  tools  and  materials  for 
production. 

Private  Interests  and  Public  Welfare.  —  Touching 
these  points  it  may  be  said  that  the  public  conscience  is 
rapidly  coming  to  a  decision  upon  the  first  five.  ( 1 )  The 
public  has  been  exploited,  the  officials  of  government 
have  been  bribed,  and  individual  members  of  society  dis- 
criminated against.  The  process  of  competition  always 
involves  V(E  victiSy  but  the  particular  factor  which  makes 
this  not  only  hard  but  unjust,  is  that  in  all  these  cases 
we  have  a  quasi-public  agency  (monopoly,  franchise. 
State-aided  corporation)  used  to  give  private  advantage. 
This  must  be  remedied  either  by  public  ownership  or 
public  control,  unless  the  ethics  of  the  struggle  for  ex- 
istence is  accepted.  The  corruption  which  has  prevailed 
under  (2)  must  be  met  either  by  public  ownership  or  con- 
trol, or  bj  SQ  reducing  th^  Ysiine  of  such  franchises  as 


SOCIETY  AS  AGENCY  OF  PRODUCTION     539 

to  leave  "nothing  in  it"  for  the  "grafter"  and  his  co- 
operators.  Vice — gambhng,  excessive  use  of  drugs  and 
liquors,  prostitution — is  no  doubt  injurious  to  its  vic- 
tims, and  when  leagued  with  public  officials  and  yielding 
enormous  corruption  funds  to  debauch  politics,  it  is  a 
public  evil  as  well.  But  its  victims  are  limited,  and  its 
appearance  not  attractive  to  the  great  majority.  The 
exploitation  and  corruption  practiced  by  the  more  gen- 
erally successful  and  "respectable"  members  of  society, 
is  far  more  insidious  and  wide-reaching.  It  demoralizes 
not  individuals  only,  but  the  standards  of  society.  As 
to  (3)  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  the  rights  of  the  matter. 
Gains  due  to  social  growth  should  be  socially  shared,  not 
appropriated  by  a  few.  The  only  question  is  as  to  the 
best  method  of  securing  these  gains.  European  States 
and  cities  have  gone  much  farther  than  the  United  States 
along  the  line  of  public  agency,  and,  while  there  is  still 
dispute  as  to  the  balance  of  advantage  in  certain  cases, 
there  is  a  growing  sentiment  that  the  more  intelligent 
and  upright  the  community,  the  more  it  can  wisely  un- 
dertake. The  moral  principle  is  that  the  public  must 
have  its  due.  Whether  it  pays  certain  agents  a  salary 
as  its  own  officials,  or  a  commission  in  the  form  of  a  mod- 
erate dividend,  is  not  so  important.^  But  to  pay  a  man 
or  a  small  group  of  promoters  a  million  dollars  to  supply 
water  or  lighting  or  transportation,  seems  no  more  moral 
than  to  pay  such  a  salary  to  a  mayor  or  counsel  or  super- 
intendent of  schools.  Taxpayers  would  probably  de- 
nounce such  salaries  as  robbery.  Such  franchises  as  have 
for  the  most  part  been  given  in  American  cities  have  been 
licenses  to  collect  high  taxes  from  the  citizens  for  the 
benefit  of  a  few,  and  do  not  differ  in  principle  from  pay- 
ing excessive  salaries,  except  as  the  element  of  risk  enters, 

*  Boston  has  an  ingenious  method  of  dividing  profits.  The  com- 
pany which  supplies  gas  must  lower  the  price  of  gas  in  proportion 
as  it  increases  its  rate  of  dividends. 


540   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

What  is  needed  at  present  in  the  United  States  is  a  larger 
number  of  experiments  in  various  methods  of  agency  to 
see  which  type  results  in  least  corruption,  fairest  dis- 
tribution, and  best  service. 

Conditions  of  Labor. — On  the  fourth  point,  the  neces- 
sity of  public  control  to  regulate  child  labor,  the  labor 
of  women,  sanitary  conditions,  and  the  use  of  dangerous 
machinery,  the  public  conscience  is  also  awakening.  De- 
cisions of  the  courts  on  the  constitutionality  of  regulating 
women's  labor  have  been  somewhat  at  variance.  But  the 
recently  announced  decision  ^  of  the  United  States  Su- 
preme Court  in  the  "Oregon  case"  seems  likely  to  be  deci- 
sive of  the  principle  that  women  may  be  treated  as  a  class. 
Freedom  of  contract  cannot  be  regarded  as  interfering 
with  the  right  to  establish  reasonable  precautions  for 
women's  health.  Woman  may  be  protected  "from  the 
greed  as  well  as  from  the  passion  of  man."  The  immo- 
rality of  child  labor  under  modern  conditions  is  also  be- 
coming clear.  For  the  public  to  see  child  life  stunted 
physically,  mentally,  and  morally  by  premature  labor 
under  the  exhausting,  deadening,  and  often  demoralizing 
conditions  of  modern  industry  and  business,  is  for  the 
public  to  consent  to  wickedness.  It  cannot  leave  this 
matter  to  the  conscience  of  individual  manufacturers  and 
parents,  for  the  conscientious  manufacturer  is  at  a  disad- 
vantage, and  it  might  with  as  much  morality  consent  to 
a  parent's  starving  or  poisoning  his  child  as  to  his  injur- 
ing it  in  less  violent  manner.  For  a  society  pretending  to 
be  moral  to  permit  little  children  to  be  used  up  or  stunted 
under  any  plea  of  cheap  production  or  support  of  parents, 
is  not  above  the  moral  level  of  those  peoples  which  prac- 
tice infanticide  to  prevent  economic  stress.  Indeed,  in 
the  case  of  a  country  which  boasts  of  its  wealth,  there 
is  far  less  justification  than  for  the  savage.  In  the  case 
of  provision  against  accident  due  to  dangerous  machinery, 

^  February  24,  1908. 


SOCIETY  AS  AGENCY  OF  PRODUCTION     541 

the  ethical  principle  is  also  clear.  To  throw  all  the  burden 
of  the  accidents  incident  to  modern  production  upon  the 
families  of  the  laborers  is  entirely  unjust.  To  impose 
it  upon  the  conscientious  manufacturer  is  no  better,  for 
it  places  him  at  a  disadvantage.  This  is  a  necessary — ex- 
cept so  far  as  it  can  be  minimized  by  safety  devices — 
part  of  the  modern  machine  process.  It  ought  to  be  paid 
for  either  by  all  manufacturers,  who  would  then  shift 
it  to  the  consumers  in  the  price  of  the  goods,  or  by  the 
public  as  a  whole  in  some  form  of  insurance.  European 
countries  have  gone  much  farther  than  the  United  States 
in  this  direction.  The  theory  that  the  employer  is  exempt 
if  a  fellow  workman  contributes  in  any  way  to  the  acci- 
dent has  been  applied  in  the  United  States  in  such  a 
way  as  to  free  employers,  and  thus  the  public,  from  any 
share  in  the  burden  of  a  large  part  of  accidents — except 
as  these  entail  poverty  and  bring  the  victim  and  his  family 
into  the  dependent  class. 

Moreover,  it  is  only  by  public  action  that  fair  condi- 
tions of  labor  can  be  secured  in  many  trades  and  under 
many  employers.  For  the  single  workman  has  not  the 
slightest  chance  to  make  conditions,  and  the  union  has 
no  effective  means  to  support  its  position  unless  it  repre- 
sents a  highly  skilled  trade  and  controls  completely  the 
supply  of  labor.  It  may  go  without  saying  that  violence 
is  wrong.  But  it  is  often  ignored  that  for  a  prosperous 
society  to  leave  the  laborer  no  remedy  hut  violence  for 
an  intolerable  condition  is  just  as  wrong. 

Motives. — (5)  On  the  question  of  motives  the  collectivist 
theory  is  probably  over-sanguine  as  to  the  gain  to  be 
effected  by  external  means.  It  is  difficult  to  believe  that 
any  change  in  methods  would  eliminate  selfishness.  There 
is  abundant  exercise  of  selfishness  in  political  democracy, 
and  even  in  families.  Further,  if  it  should  be  settled  on 
other  grounds  that  competition  in  certain  cases  performs 
a  social  service,  it  would  then  be  possible  for  a  man  to 


542   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

compete  with  a  desire  to  serve  the  pubHc,  just  as  truly 
as  it  would  be  possible  to  compete  for  selfish  motives. 
That  a  process  causes  pain  incidentally  does  not  neces- 
sarily pervert  the  motive  of  the  surgeon  or  parent.  It 
does,  of  course,  throw  the  burden  of  proof  upon  the  advo- 
cate of  the  process.  Rivalry  need  not  mean  enmity  if 
the  rivals  are  on  an  equal  footing  and  play  fair. 

Exploitation  of  Labor — (6)  The  question  whether  all 
capitalistic  production  first  exploits  the  laboring  class, 
and  then  tends  to  absorb  or  drive  out  of  business  the  small 
capitalist,  is  not  so  easy  of  decision.  It  seems  to  be  easy 
to  make  a  plausible  statement  for  each  side  by  statistical 
evidence.  There  seems  little  doubt  that  the  general  stand- 
ard of  living  for  laborers  is  rising.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  number  of  enormous  fortunes  seems  to  rise  much 
faster,  and  there  is  an  appalling  amount  of  poverty  in 
the  great  cities.  This  is  sometimes  attributed  to  thrift- 
lessness  or  to  excessively  large  families.  A  careful  study 
of  an  English  agricultural  community,  where  the  condi- 
tions seemed  at  least  as  good  as  the  average,  showed  that 
a  family  could  not  have  over  two  children  without  sinking 
below  the  line  of  adequate  food,  shelter,  and  clothing,  to 
say  nothing  of  medical  attendance  or  other  comforts.  In 
the  United  States  there  has  been  such  a  supply  of  land 
available  that  the  stress  has  not  been  so  intense.  Just 
what  the  situation  will  be  if  the  country  becomes  thickly 
settled  cannot  be  foretold.  Professor  J.  B.  Clark  shows 
that  the  tendency  in  a  static  society  would  be  to  give 
the  laborer  more  and  more  nearly  his  share — provided 
there  is  free  competition  for  his  services.  The  difficulty 
is  that  society  is  not  static  and  that  a  laborer  cannot 
shift  at  will  from  trade  to  trade  and  from  place  to 
place. 

That  sometimes  capital  exploits  labor  is  merely  to  say 
that  the  buyer  sometimes  gets  the  advantage.  That  capi- 
tal usually  has  the  advantage  in  its  greater  resources  may 


SOCIETY  AS  AGENCY  OF  PRODUCTION     543 

be  admitted,  but  that  it  invariably  must  seems  an  un- 
warranted deduction.  The  multiplication  of  wants  widens 
continually  the  number  of  occupations  and  thus  increases 
the  competition  for  the  service  of  the  more  skilled.  In 
such  cases  some,  at  least,  of  the  sellers  should  be  in  a 
position  to  make  a  fair  bargain.  Indeed,  recent  socialists 
do  not  advocate  any  such  complete  assumption  by  society 
of  all  production  as  is  presented  in  some  of  the  socialistic 
Utopias.  Their  principle  is  "that  the  State  must  under- 
take the  production  and  distribution  of  social  wealth  wher- 
ever private  enterprise  is  dangerous  or  less  efficient  than 
public  enterprise."^ 

It  is  for  those  who  do  not  believe  in  public  control  to 
prove  that  in  the  great  enterprises  for  the  production  of 
the  necessaries  of  life,  for  transportation,  banking,  min- 
ing, and  the  like,  private  enterprise  is  not  dangerous. 
The  conduct  of  many — not  all — of  these  enterprises  in 
recent  years,  not  only  in  their  economic  aspects,  but  in 
their  recklessness  of  human  life,  health,  and  morality,  is 
what  makes  socialism  a  practical  question.  If  it  is 
adopted,  it  will  not  be  for  any  academic  or  a  priori  rea- 
sons. It  will  be  because  private  enterprise  fails  to  serve 
the  public,  and  its  injustice  becomes  intolerable.  If  busi- 
ness enterprise,  as  sometimes  threatens,  seeks  to  subordi- 
nate political  and  social  institutions,  including  legislatures 
and  courts,  to  economic  interests,  the  choice  must  be  be- 
tween public  control  and  public  ownership.  And  if, 
whether  by  the  inherent  nature  of  legal  doctrine  and 
procedure,  or  by  the  superior  shrewdness  of  capital 
in  evading  regulation,  control  is  made  to  appear  inef- 
fective, the  social  conscience  will  demand  ownership.  To 
subordinate  the  State  to  commercial  interests  is  as  im- 
moral as  to  make  the  economic  interest  supreme  in  the 
individual. 

As  regards  the  relations  between  capital  and  labor,  it 
*  Spargo,  Socialism,  220-27. 


544   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

argues  an  undeveloped  state  of  society  that  we  have  no 
machinery  for  determining  controversy  as  to  what  is  a 
fair  wage.  In  the  long  run,  and  on  the  whole,  supply 
and  demand  may  give  an  approximately  fair  adjustment, 
but  our  present  method  of  fighting  it  out  in  doubtful 
cases  is  barbaric.  The  issue  is  decided  often  by  violence 
or  the  no  less  unmoral  motive  of  pressing  want,  instead 
of  by  the  moral  test  of  what  is  fair.  And  the  great  third 
interest,  the  consumer,  or  the  public  at  large,  is  not  rep- 
resented at  all.  New  Zealand,  Canada,  and  some  of  the 
states  in  the  United  States  have  made  beginnings.  The 
President  undoubtedly  commanded  general  support  in  his 
position  during  the  coal  strike,  when  he  maintained  that 
the  public  was  morally  bound  to  take  some  part  in  the 
struggle. 

Must  not  society  be  lacking  in  resources  if  its  only 
resource  is  to  permit  exploitation,  on  the  one  hand, 
or  carry  on  all  industry  and  business  itself,  upon  the 
other.?  To  lose  the  flexibility,  variety,  and  keenness  of 
interest  secured  by  individual  or  associated  enterprise, 
would  certainly  be  an  evil.  Early  business  was  conducted 
largely  by  kinship  organizations.  The  pendulum  has 
doubtless  reached  the  other  extreme  in  turning  over  to 
groups,  organized  on  a  purely  commercial  basis,  opera- 
tions that  could  be  more  equitably  managed  by  city  or 
state  agency.  Most  favor  public  agency  in  the  case  of 
schools.  Railroads,  gas  companies,  and  other  monopolies' 
are  still  subject  to  controversy.  But  that  an  ideally 
organized  society  should  permit  associations  and  group- 
ing of  a  great  many  kinds  as  agencies  for  carrying  on  its 
work  seems  a  platform  not  to  be  abandoned  until  proved 
hopeless. 

Collective  Agency  is  Not  Necessarily  Social.  —  The 
socialist  is  inclined  to  think  that  if  the  agency  of  pro- 
duction were  the  government  or  the  whole  organized  so- 
ciety this  would  give  a  genuine  social  agency  of  control. 


THEORIES  OF  JUST  DISTRIBUTION       545 

This  by  no  means  follows.  Party  government  and  city 
government  in  the  United  States  have  shown  the  fallacy 
of  this.  But  even  apart  from  the  possibility  of  a  cor- 
rupt boss  there  is  still  a  wide  gap  between  the  collective 
and  the  socialized  agency.  For  until  the  members  of 
society  have  reached  a  sufficiently  high  level  of  intelli- 
gence and  character  to  exercise  voluntary  control,  and 
to  cooperate  wisely  and  efficiently,  there  must  be  some 
central  directing  agency.  And  such  an  agency  will  be 
morally  external  to  a  large  number.  It  doesn't  matter 
so  much  what  name  this  agent  is  called  by — i.e.,  whether 
he  is  "capitalist,"  or  "government," — so  long  as  the  con- 
trol is  external.  In  general,  individuals  are  still  with- 
out the  mutual  confidence  and  public  intelligence  which 
would  enable  them  really  to  socialize  the  mechanically 
collective  process. 

§  6.    THEORIES   OF    JUST   DISTRIBUTION 

Socialism  as  theory  of  distribution  does  not  necessarily 
imply  public  operation  of  production.  By  graded  taxa- 
tion the  proceeds  of  production  might  be  taken  by  society 
and  either  held,  used,  or  distributed  on  some  supposedly 
more  equitable  basis.  To  give  point  to  any  inquiry  as 
to  the  justice  of  a  proposed  distribution,  it  would  be  de- 
sirable to  know  what  is  the  present  distribution.  Unfor- 
tunately, no  figures  are  accepted  by  all  students.  Spahr's 
Present  Distribution  of  Wealth  in  the  United  States 
estimates  that  seven-eighths  of  the  families  in  the  United 
States  own  only  one-eighth  of  the  wealth,  and  that  one 
per  cent,  own  more  than  the  remaining  ninety-nine  per 
cent.  This  has  been  challenged,  but  any  estimate  made 
by  the  economists  shows  such  enormous  disproportion  as 
to  make  it  incredible  that  the  present  distribution  can  be 
regarded  as  just  on  any  definition  of  justice  other  than 
''according  to  the   principles   of  contract   and   competi- 


546   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

tion."     Suppose,  then,  the  question  is  raised,  How  can 
we  make  a  just  distribution? 

Criteria  Proposed. — The  simplest,  and  at  the  same  time 
most  mechanical  and  abstract,  method  would  be  to  divide 
all  goods  equally.  This  would  be  to  ignore  all  moral  and 
other  differences,  as  indeed  is  practically  done  in  the  suf- 
frage. If  all  men  are  accounted  equal  in  the  State,  why 
not  in  wealth?  It  may  be  admitted  that,  if  society  were 
to  distribute,  it  would  have  to  do  it  on  some  system  which 
could  be  objectively  administered.  To  divide  wealth  ac- 
cording to  merit,  or  according  to  efforts,  or  according 
to  needs,  would  be  a  far  more  moral  method.  But  it  is 
difficult  to  see  how,  in  the  case  of  material  goods  or  their 
money  equivalent,  such  a  division  could  be  made  by  any 
being  not  omniscient  as  well  as  absolutely  just.  If  we  are 
to  consider  distribution  as  administered  by  society,  we 
seem  reduced  to  the  alternative  of  the  present  system  or  a 
system  of  equality. 

I.  The  Individualistic  Theory. — It  is  indeed  supposed 
by  some  that  the  individualistic  or  competitive  system  dis- 
tributes on  a  moral  basis:  viz.,  according  to  merit.  This 
claim  would  have  to  meet  the  following  criticisms : 

(1)  "The  first  abstraction  which  this  individualistic 
principle  of  reward  usually  makes  it  that  it  gives  a  man 
credit  for  all  he  achieves,  or  charges  him  with  all  his 
failures,  without  recognizing  the  threefold  origin  of 
these  achievements  or  failures.  Heredity,  society,  per- 
sonal choice,  have  each  had  some  share  in  the  result.  But, 
in  considering  the  ethics  of  competition  upon  this  maxim, 
there  is  evidently  no  attempt  to  discriminate  between 
these  several  sources.  The  man  born  with  industrial  gen- 
ius, presented  by  society  with  the  knowledge  of  all  that 
has  been  done  in  the  past,  and  equipped  by  society  with 
all  the  methods  and  tools  society  can  devise,  certainly  has 
an  advantage  over  the  man  of  moderate  talents  and  no 
education.     To  claim  that  the  first  should  be  justly  re- 


THEORIES  OF  JUST  DISTRIBUTION      547 

warded  for  his  superiority  would  imply  that  the  reception 
of  one  gift  constitutes  a  just  claim  for  another. 

(2)  Secondly,  the  theory  as  applied  to  our  present  sys- 
tem is  guilty  of  a  further  abstraction  in  assuming  that 
the  chief,  if  not  the  only,  way  to  deserve  reward  is  by  indi- 
vidualistic shrewdness  and  energy. 

(3)  It  measures  desert  by  service  rendered  without  tak- 
ing any  account  of  motive  or  even  of  intent.  The  captain 
of  industry  performs  an  important  service  to  society; 
therefore,  it  is  argued,  he  should  be  rewarded  accordingly, 
quite  irrespective  of  the  question  whether  he  was  aiming 
at  social  welfare  or  at  selfish  gain.  It  may  even  be  plau- 
sibly argued  that  to  reward  men  financially  for  good  mo- 
tives would  be  bribing  men  to  be  honest.  It  is  true  that 
financial  rewards  will  not  make  good  citizens,  but  this  is 
irrelevant.  The  point  is  that  whatever  other  reasons, — 
expediency,  difficulty  of  estimating  intent  and  motive, — 
may  be  urged  for  abstracting  from  everything  but  the 
result,  the  one  reason  which  cannot  be  urged  is,  such  ab- 
straction is  just.  A  person  has  rights  only  because  he  is 
a  social  person.  But  to  call  a  man  a  social  person  be- 
cause he  incidentally  produces  useful  results,  is  to  say  that 
purpose  and  will  are  negligible  elements  of  personality.^ 

2.  Equal  Division. — The  system  of  equal  division  is 
liable  to  the  following  criticism.  In  their  economic  services 
men  are  not  equal.  They  are  unequal  not  merely  in  talent 
and  ability;  not  merely  in  the  value  of  their  work;  they 
are  unequal  in  their  disposition.  To  treat  idle  and  indus- 
trious, useless  and  useful,  slow  and  quick  alike  is  not 
equality,  but  inequality.  It  is  to  be  guilty  of  as  palpable 
an  abstraction  as  to  say  that  all  men  are  equally  free 
because  they  are  not  subject  to  physical  constraint.  Real 
equality  will  try  to  treat  like  conditions  alike,  and  unlike 
character,  efforts,  or  services  differently. 

There  is,  moreover,  a  psychological  objection  which 
^Philosophical  Review,  xiv.,  370  f. 


548   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

would  weigh  against  an  equal  division  even  if  such  were 
regarded  as  just.  The  average  man  perhaps  prefers  an 
economic  order  in  which  there  are  prizes  and  blanks  to  an 
order  in  which  every  man  draws  out  the  same.  He  pre- 
fers an  exciting  game  to  a  sure  but  tame  return  of  his 
investment.  He  may  call  for  a  "square  deal,"  but  we 
must  remember  that  a  "square  deal"  in  the  great  American 
game  from  which  the  metaphor  is  taken  is  not  designed  to 
make  the  game  less  one  of  chance.  It  is  designed  to  give 
full  scope  to  luck  and  nerve.  A  game  in  which  every 
player  was  sure  to  win,  but  also  sure  to  win  just  what  he 
had  put  in,  would  be  equitable,  but  it  would  not  be  a  game. 
An  equal  distribution  might  rob  life  of  its  excitement  and 
its  passion.  Possibly  the  very  strain  of  the  process  de- 
velops some  elements  of  character  which  it  would  be  unfor- 
tunate to  lose. 

Is  there  no  alternative  possible  for  society  except  an 
equality  which  is  external  only,  and  therefore  unequal, 
or  an  inequality  which  charges  a  man  with  all  the  accrued 
benefits  or  evils  of  his  ancestry .?  Must  we  either  recognize 
no  moral  differences  in  men,  or  else  be  more  merciless  than 
the  old  orthodox  doctrine  of  hereditary  or  imputed  guilt.? 
The  theological  doctrine  merely  made  a  man  suffer  for 
his  ancestors'  sins ;  the  doctrine  of  unlimited  individual- 
ism would  damn  him  not  only  for  his  ancestors'  sins  and 
defects,  but  for  the  injustice  suffered  by  his  ancestors  at 
the  hands  of  others.  The  analysis  of  the  sources  of  a 
man's  ability  may  give  a  clue  to  a  third  possibility,  and 
it  is  along  this  line  that  the  social  conscience  of  to-day  is 
feeling  its  way. 

3.  A  Working  Programme. — A  man's  power  is  due  (1) 
to  physical  heredity ;  (S)  to  social  heredity,  including  care, 
education,  and  the  stock  of  inventions,  information,  and 
institutions  which  enables  him  to  be  more  efficient  than 
the  savage;  and  finally  (3)  to  his  own  efforts.  Individ- 
ualism may  properly  claim  this  third  factor.     It  is  just 


THEORIES  OF  JUST  DISTRIBUTION      549 

to  treat  men  unequally  so  far  as  their  efforts  are  un- 
equal. It  is  socially  desirable  to  give  as  much  incentive 
as  possible  to  the  full  development  of  every  one's  powers. 
But  the  very  same  reason  demands  that  in  the  first  two 
respects  we  treat  men  as  equally  as  possible.  For  it 
is  for  the  good  of  the  social  body  to  get  the  most 
out  of  its  members,  and  it  can  get  the  most  out  of 
them  only  by  giving  them  the  best  start  possible.  In 
physical  heredity  the  greater  part  is,  as  yet,  wholly 
outside  control,  but  there  is  an  important  factor  which 
is  in  the  sphere  of  moral  action,  namely,  the  physical 
condition  of  the  parents,  particularly  of  the  mother.  Con- 
ditions of  food,  labor,  and  housing  should  be  such  that 
every  child  may  be  physically  well  born.  In  the  various 
elements  included  under  social  heredity  society  has  a  freer 
hand.  Not  a  free  hand,  for  physical  and  mental  inca- 
pacity limit  the  amount  of  social  accumulation  which  can 
be  communicated,  but  we  are  only  beginning  to  appreciate 
how  much  of  the  deficiency  formerly  acquiesced  in  as  hope- 
less may  be  prevented  or  remedied  by  proper  food,  hygiene, 
and  medical  care.  Completely  equal  education,  likewise, 
cannot  be  given ;  not  in  kind,  for  not  all  children  have  like 
interests  and  society  does  not  want  to  train  all  for  the 
same  task;  nor  in  quantity,  for  some  will  have  neither  the 
ability  nor  the  disposition  to  do  the  more  advanced  work. 
But  as,  little  by  little,  labor  becomes  in  larger  degree 
scientific,  the  ratio  of  opportunities  for  better  trained 
men  will  increase,  and  as  education  becomes  less  exclusively 
academic,  and  more  an  active  preparation  for  all  kinds 
of  work,  the  interests  of  larger  and  larger  numbers  of 
children  will  be  awakened.  Such  a  programme  as  this  is 
one  of  the  meanings  of  the  phrase  ''equal  opportunity," 
which  voices  the  demand  widely  felt  for  some  larger  con- 
ception of  economic  and  social  justice  than  now  obtains. 
It  would  make  formal  freedom,  formal  "equality"  before 
the  law,  less  an  empty  mockery  by  giving  to  every  child 


650   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

some  of  the  power  and  knowledge  which  are  the  necessary, 
conditions  of  real  freedom. 

Society  has  already  gone  a  long  way  along  the  line  of 
giving  an  equal  share  in  education.  It  is  moving  rapidly 
toward  broader  conceptions  of  education  for  all  occupa- 
tions— farming,  mechanics,  arts,  trade,  business — as  well 
as  for  the  "learned  professions."  It  is  making  a  begin- 
ning toward  giving  children  (see  the  Report  of  the  New 
York  Tenement  House  Commission)  a  chance  to  be  born 
and  grow  up  with  at  least  a  living  minimum  of  light  and 
air.  Libraries  and  dispensaries  and  public  health  offi- 
cials are  bringing  the  science  and  literature  of  the  world  in 
increasing  measure  into  the  lives  of  all.  When  by  the  bet- 
ter organization  of  the  courts  the  poor  man  has  real,  and 
not  merely  formal  equality  before  the  law,  and  thereby 
justice  itself  is  made  more  accessible  to  all,  another  long 
step  will  be  taken  toward  a  juster  order.  How  far  society 
can  go  is  yet  to  be  solved.  But  is  it  not  at  least  a  work- 
ing hypothesis  for  experiment,  that  society  should  try  to 
give  to  all  its  members  the  gains  due  to  the  social  progress 
of  the  past?  How  far  the  maxim  of  equal  opportunity 
will  logically  lead  it  is  impossible  to  say.  Fortunately, 
the  moral  problem  is  to  work  out  new  ideals,  not  merely  to 
administer  old  ones.  Other  possibilities  of  larger  justice 
are  noticed  under  §  8  below. 

§  7.    OWNERSHIP  AND  USE  OF  PROPERTY 

The  public  wealth  may  be  controlled  and  used  in  four 
ways:  It  may  be  (1)  Privately  owned  and  used;  (2)  Pri- 
vately owned  and  publicly  used  ;  (3)  Publicly  held,  but  pri- 
vately used;  (4)  Publicly  held  and  commonly  used.  The 
individualist  would  have  all  wealth,  or  as  much  as  possible, 
under  one  of  the  first  two  forms.  The  tendency  in  the 
United  States  until  very  recently  has  been  to  divest  the 
public  of  all  ownership.    The  socialist,  while  favoring  pri- 


OWNERSHIP  AND  USE  OF  PROPERTY    551 

vate  ownership  and  use  of  the  more  strictly  personal  ar- 
ticles, favors  the  public  holding  of  much  which  is  now  pri- 
vately owned — notably  the  land,  or  the  instruments  of 
production — as  versus  the  holding  of  these  by  private  or 
corporate  persons.  Or,  again,  it  may  be  maintained  that 
while  individuals  should  be  allowed  to  accumulate  as  much 
property  as  they  can,  they  should  not  be  allowed  to  trans- 
mit it  entirely  to  their  heirs. 

Value  of  Private  Property — The  individualist  may 
properly  point  to  the  psychological  and  historical  signifi- 
cance of  private  property,  which  has  been  stated  in 
a  preceding  chapter  (p.  490).  He  may  say  that  the 
evils  there  mentioned  as  attendant  upon  private  property 
do  not  belong  to  the  property  in  itself,  but  to  the  exag- 
gerated love  of  it.  He  may  admit  that  the  present  empha- 
sis of  attention  upon  the  ownership  of  wealth,  rather  than 
upon  intellectual  or  aesthetic  or  social  interests,  is  not  the 
highest  type  of  human  endeavor.  But  he  urges  that  the 
positive  values  of  property  are  such  that  the  present  pol- 
icy of  placing  no  check  upon  property  should  be  main- 
tained. In  addition  to  the  indirect  social  value  through 
the  power  and  freedom  given  to  its  owners,  it  may  be 
claimed  that  the  countless  educational,  charitable,  and 
philanthropic  agencies  sustained  by  voluntary  gifts  from 
private  property,  are  both  the  best  method  of  accomplish- 
ing certain  socially  valuable  work,  and  have  an  important 
reflex  value  in  promoting  the  active  social  interest  of  those 
who  carry  them  on.  Nor  is  the  force  of  this  entirely 
broken  by  the  counter  claim  that  this  would  justify  keep- 
ing half  the  population  in  poverty  in  order  to  give  the 
other  half  the  satisfaction  of  charity.  No  system  short  of 
absolute  communism  can  abolish  the  need  of  friendly 
help. 

Defects  and  Dangers  in  the  Present  System. — ^The  first 
question  which  arises  is :  If  property  is  so  valuable  morally, 
bow  many  are  profiting  by  it  under  the  present  system, 


552   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

and  how  many  are  without  its  beneficent  effects?  Is  the 
number  of  property-owners  increasing  or  diminishing  ?  In 
one  of  the  morally  most  valuable  forms  of  property,  the 
number  of  those  who  profit  is  certainly  decreasing  rela- 
tively :  viz.y  in  the  owning  of  homes.  The  building  of  private 
residences  has  practically  ceased  in  New  York  and  many 
other  cities  except  for  the  very  rich.  With  the  increasing 
value  of  land  the  owning  of  homes  is  bound  to  become  more 
and  more  rare.  Only  the  large  capitalist  can  put  up  the 
apartment  house.  In  the  ownership  of  shops  and  indus- 
tries the  number  of  owners  has  relatively  decreased,  that 
of  clerks  has  increased.  The  wage-workers  in  cities 
are  largely  propertyless.  The  management  of  industries 
through  corporations  while  theoretically  affording  oppor- 
tunity for  property  has  yet,  as  Judge  Grosscup  has 
pointed  out  forcibly,  been  such  as  to  discourage  the  small 
investor,  and  to  prompt  to  the  consumption  of  wages  as 
fast  as  received.  The  objection  to  individualism  on  this 
ground  would  then  be  as  before,  that  it  is  not  individual 
enough. 

An  objection  of  contrary  character  is  that  the  posses- 
sion of  property  releases  its  owner  from  any  necessity  of 
active  effort  or  service  to  the  public.  It  may  therefore 
injure  character  on  both  its  individual  and  its  social  side. 
Probably  the  absolute  number  of  those  who  refrain  from 
any  social  service  because  of  their  property  is  not  very 
large,  and  it  may  be  questioned  whether  the  particular 
persons  would  be  socially  very  valuable  under  any  system 
if  they  are  now  oblivious  to  all  the  moral  arguments  for 
such  activity  and  service. 

A  more  serious  objection  to  the  individualistic  policy 
is  the  enormous  power  allowed  to  the  holders  of  great  prop- 
erties. It  has  been  estimated  that  a  trust  fund  recently 
created  for  two  grandchildren  will  exceed  five  billion  dol- 
lars when  handed  over.  It  is  easily  possible  that  some  of 
the  private  fortunes  now  held  may,  if  undisturbed,  amount 


OWNERSHIP  AND  USE  OF  PROPERTY    553 

to  far  more  than  the  above  within  another  generation. 
Moreover,  the  power  of  such  a  fortune  is  not  hmited  to  its 
own  absolute  purchasing  value.  By  the  presence  of  its 
owners  upon  directorates  of  industrial,  transportation, 
banking,  and  insurance  corporations  the  resources  of 
many  other  owners  are  controlled.  A  pressure  may  be 
exerted  upon  political  affairs  compared  with  which  actual 
contributions  to  campaign  funds  are  of  slight  importance. 
The  older  theory  in  America  was  that  the  injury  to  the 
private  character  of  the  owners  of  wealth  would  negative 
the  possible  dangers  to  the  public,  since  possession  of  large 
wealth  would  lead  to  relaxation  of  energy,  or  even  to  dissi- 
pation. It  was  assumed  that  the  father  acquired  the  for- 
tune, the  son  spent  it,  and  thus  scattered  it  among  the 
many,  and  the  grandson  began  again  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ladder.  Now  that  this  theory  is  no  longer  tenable,  society 
will  be  obliged  to  ask  how  much  power  may  safely  be  left 
to  any  individual. 

It  must  be  recognized  that  the  present  management  of 
such  natural  resources  as  forests  under  the  regime  of  pri- 
vate property  has  been  extremely  wasteful  and  threatens 
serious  injury  to  the  United  States.  Individual  owners 
cannot  be  expected  to  consider  the  welfare  of  the  country 
at  large,  or  of  future  generations ;  hence  the  water  power 
is  impaired  and  the  timber  supply  of  the  future  threat- 
ened. 

Finally  it  must  be  remembered  that  many  of  the  present 
evils  and  inequities  in  ownership  are  not  due  necessarily 
to  a  system  of  private  property,  but  rather  to  special 
privileges  possessed  by  classes  of  individuals.  These  may 
be  survivals  of  past  conquests  of  arms  as  in  Europe,  or 
derived  by  special  legislation,  or  due  to  a  perfectly  uncon- 
scious attitude  of  public  morals  which  carries  over  to  a 
new  situation  the  customs  of  an  early  day.  *  Mill's  famous 
indictment  of  present  conditions  is  not  in  all  respects  so 
applicable  to  America  as  to  the  older  countries  of  Europe, 


554   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

but  it  has  too  much  truth  to  be  omitted  in  any  ethical  con- 
sideration. 

"If  the  choice  were  to  be  made  between  communism  with 
all  its  chances,  and  the  present  state  of  society  with  all  its 
sufferings  and  injustices,  if  the  institution  of  private  property 
necessarily  carried  with  it,  as  a  consequence,  that  the  produce 
of  labor  should  be  apportioned  as  we  now  see  it,  almost  in  an 
inverse  ratio  to  the  labor, — the  largest  portions  to  those 
who  have  not  worked  at  all,  the  next  largest  to  those  whose 
work  is  almost  nominal,  and  so  in  descending  scale,  the 
remuneration  dwindling  as  the  work  grows  harder  and  more 
disagreeable,  until  the  most  fatiguing  and  exhausting  bodily 
labor  cannot  count  with  certainty  on  being  able  to  earn  even 
the  necessaries  of  life, — if  this,  or  communism,  were  the  al- 
ternative, all  the  difficulties,  great  or  small,  of  communism 
would  be  but  as  dust  in  the  balance.  But  to  make  the  com- 
parison applicable,  we  must  compare  communism  at  its  best 
with  the  regime  of  individual  property,  not  as  it  is,  but  as  it 
might  be  made.  The  principle  of  private  property  has  never 
yet  had  a  fair  trial  in  any  country."  {Polit.  Econ.,  Book  II., 
ch.  i.) 

§  8.    PRESENT  TENDENCIES 

Individualistic  Foundations. — The  general  tendency 
up  to  very  recent  time  in  the  United  States  has  been  de- 
cidedly individualistic,  both  in  the  policy  concerning  the 
method  of  holding  property,  and  in  the  legal  balance  be- 
tween vested  property  rights  and  the  social  welfare.  Pub- 
lic lands  were  granted  on  easy  terms  to  homesteaders; 
mines  as  well  as  soil  were  practically  free  to  the  prospector ; 
school  fund  lands  were  in  most  cases  sold  for  a  song  in- 
stead of  being  kept  for  the  public.  So  general  has  been 
the  attitude  that  all  wealth  ought  to  be  in  private  hands 
that  it  has  been  difficult  to  convict  men  who  have  fraudu- 
lently obtained  vast  tracts  of  public  land.  The  magni- 
tude of  the  operation  has  given  "respectability"  to  the 
beneficiaries.  The  taxing  power  has  done  little  to  main- 
tain adjustment.     In  this^  as  in  many  other  respects,  the 


PRESENT  TENDENCIES  555 

policy  of  the  United  States  has  been  far  more  individual- 
istic than  that  of  Great  Britain.  The  latter  has  graded 
income  and  inheritance  taxes.  In  the  United  States,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  Federal  taxation  bears  more  heavily  on 
the  poor  as  they  are  the  large  body  of  consumers, — ^not, 
of  course,  in  the  sense  that  the  individual  poor  man  pays 
more  than  the  individual  rich  man,  but  in  the  sense  that 
a  million  of  dollars  owned  by  a  thousand  men  pays  more 
than  a  million  owned  by  one  man.  Legally,  the  Constitu- 
tion of  the  United  States  and  certain  of  its  amendments 
gave  private  rights  extraordinary  protection,  especially 
when  contracts  were  construed  to  mean  charters,  as  well 
as  private  contracts.  The  public  welfare  was  conceived 
to  reside  almost  solely  in  private  rights.^ 

Increased  Recognition  of  Public  Welfare. — Recent  pol- 
icy and  legal  decisions  show  a  decided  change.  Reserves 
of  forest  lands  have  been  established.  Water-supplies, 
parks,  and  many  other  kinds  of  property  have  been 
changed  from  private  to  public  ownership.  The  question 
as  to  mines  has  been  raised.  Graded  inheritance  taxes 
have  been  established  in  some  states,  and  the  question  of 
graded  income  taxes  is  likely  to  be  more  generally  con- 
sidered unless  some  other  form  of  taxation  based  on  the 
social  values  given  to  land,  or  franchises,  or  other  forms 
of  property  seems  more  equitable.  The  Supreme  Court  in 
recent  decisions  "has  read  into  the  constitution  two  sweep- 
ing exceptions  to  the  inviolability  of  property  rights."  ^ 
One  is  that  of  public  use.  "Whenever  the  owner  of  a 
property  devotes  it  to  a  use  in  which  the  pubUc  has  an 
interest,  he  in  effect  grants  to  the  public  an  interest  in  such 
use,  and  must  to  the  extent  of  that  use  submit  to  be  con- 
trolled by  the  public  for  the  common  good  so  long  as  he 
maintains  the  use."     The  second  exception  is  that  of  the 

^  Cf.  J.  A.  Smith,  The  Spirit  of  American  Oovernment,  1907. 

^  I  have  followed  in  this  paragraph  the  discussion  of  Professor 
Munroe  Smith,  Van  Norden's  Magazine,  February,  1908.  For  a  full 
history  see  E.  Freund,  The  Police  Power,  1905. 


556   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

police  power  which  in  1906  (204  U.  S.,  311,  318)  was  de- 
clared to  extend  "to  so  dealing  with  the  conditions  which 
exist  in  the  state  as  to  bring  out  of  them  the  greatest  wel- 
fare of  its  people."  The  application  of  this  broad  princi- 
ple is  still  in  an  uncertain  condition,  but  there  can  be  no 
question  that  it  recognizes  a  changed  situation.  When  peo- 
ple are  living  in  such  interdependence  as  in  the  collective 
life  of  to-day,  it  is  no  longer  possible  to  locate  public  wel- 
fare in  any  such  preponderating  degree  in  private  rights 
as  was  justified  under  the  conditions  of  a  new  country  a 
century  ago.     Says  Professor  Smith: 

"On  the  fundamental  question  of  the  relation  of  public 
policy  to  private  property  rights  the  [Supreme]  Court  has 
abandoned  the  individualist  views  with  which  the  founders 
of  the  constitution  were  imbued;  and  in  its  doctrines  of  the 
public  use  and  the  police  power  it  has  distinctly  accepted  what 
may  be  termed,  in  the  literal  and  proper  sense  of  the  word, 
the  socialist  view.  In  so  doing,  it  has  unquestionably  ex- 
pressed the  dominant  opinion  of  the  American  people.  The 
American  people  does  not  accept  the  coUectivist  theory;  it 
believes  in  private  property;  but  it  recognizes  that  rights 
of  property  must  yield,  in  cases  of  conflict,  to  the  superior 
rights  of  society  at  large." 

If  some  of  the  means  set  forth  above  for  securing  juster 
distribution  were  adopted,  the  first  step  toward  Mill's  de- 
mand ^  would  be  met.  If  the  community  should  reap  the 
return  for  its  own  growth,  if  taxation  should  be  so  ar- 
ranged as  to  fall  most  heavily  on  those  best  able  to  pay 
rather  than  on  those  who  are  most  honest  or  least  able 
to  evade,  it  would  seem  rational  to  hold  that  society  will 
find  a  way  to  continue  the  four  forms  of  control  now  exist- 
ing, making  such  shifts  as  changing  conditions  require. 

Some  of  these  shiftings  are  already  evident  and  give 
promise  of  greater  justice  without  loss  of  any  of  the  bene- 
fits accruing  from  private  property. 

^  Above,  p.  554. 


PRESENT  TENDENCIES  557 

Social  Justice  through  Economic,  Social,  and  Scien- 
tific Progress. — Not  all  moral  advance  comes  "with  obser- 
vation," or  by  political  agency.  The  economic  process  is 
providing  in  certain  lines  a  substitute  for  property. 
Science  and  invention,  which  are  themselves  a  fine  illustra- 
tion of  the  balance  and  interaction  between  individual  and 
social  intelligence,  individual  effort  and  social  cooperation, 
are  making  possible  in  many  ways  a  state  of  society  in 
which  men  have  at  once  greater  freedom  and  greater  power 
through  association,  greater  individual  development  and 
greater  socialization  of  interests,  less  private  property  but 
greater  private  use  and  enjoyment  of  what  is  common. 

The  substitute  for  property  provided  by  the  economic 
process  itself  is  permanence  or  security  of  support.  If 
the  person  can  count  definitely  upon  a  future,  this  is  equiv- 
alent to  the  security  of  property.  And  through  the  or- 
ganization of  modern  industry  supplemented  by  insurance 
and  pensions,  either  state,  institutional,  or  in  corporations, 
or  in  mutual  benefit  associations,  there  has  been  on  the 
whole,  a  great  increase  of  security,  although  it  is  still  un- 
fortunately true  that  the  wage-worker  may  in  most  cases 
be  dismissed  at  any  moment,  and  has  virtually  no  con- 
tract, or  even  any  well-assured  confidence  of  continued 
employment. 

It  is  a  mutual  cooperation  of  economic,  social,  and  sci- 
entific factors  which  has  brought  about  a  great  increase 
of  individual  use  and  enjoyment  through  public  owner- 
ship. This  has  placed  many  of  the  things  which  make  life 
worth  living  within  the  enjoyment  of  all,  and  at  the  same 
time  given  a  far  better  service  to  the  users  than  the  old 
method  of  private  ownership.  In  this  change  lies,  perhaps, 
the  greatest  advance  of  justice  in  the  economic  sphere,  and 
a  great  promise  for  the  future.  There  was  a  time  when 
if  a  man  would  sit  down  on  a  piece  of  ground  and  enjoy  a 
fine  landscape,  he  must  own  it.  If  he  would  have  a  plot 
where  his  children  might  play,  he  must  own  it.    If  he  would 


558      UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

travel,  he  must  carry  his  own  lantern,  and  furnish  his 
own  protection  from  thieves.  If  he  would  have  water,  he 
must  sink  his  own  well.  If  he  would  send  a  letter,  he  must 
own  or  hire  a  messenger.  If  he  would  read  a  book,  he  must 
not  merely  own  the  book,  but  own  or  hire  the  author  or 
copyist.  If  he  would  educate  his  children,  he  must  own 
or  hire  the  tutor.  We  have  learned  that  public  parks, 
public  lighting  and  water  works,  public  libraries,  and 
public  schools,  are  better  than  private  provision. 

The  objection  which  comes  from  the  individualist  to  this 
programme  is  that  it  does  too  much  for  the  individual.  It 
is  better,  urges  individualism,  to  stimulate  the  individual's 
activity  and  leave  his  wants  largely  unsatisfied  than  to 
satisfy  all  his  wants  at  the  expense  of  his  activity.  But 
this  assumes  that  what  is  done  through  public  agencies  is 
done  for  the  people  and  not  by  the  people.  A  democracy 
may  do  for  itself  what  an  aristocracy  may  not  do  for  a 
dependent  class.  The  greatest  demoralization  at  the  pres- 
ent time  is  not  to  those  who  have  not,  but  to  those  who 
appropriate  gains  due  to  associated  activity,  complacently 
supposing  that  they  have  themselves  created  all  that  they 
enjoy. 

Another  Great  Advance  is  the  Change  in  What  Makes 
Up  the  Chief  Values  of  Life. — In  early  times  the  values 
of  life  were  largely  found  in  food,  clothing,  personal  or- 
naments, bodily  comfort,  sex  gratifications.  Enjoyment 
of  these  involved  exclusive  possession  and  therefore  prop- 
erty. But  with  the  advance  of  civilization  an  increasing 
proportion  of  life's  values  falls  in  the  mental  realm  of 
sharable  goods. 

Satisfaction  in  knowledge,  in  art,  in  association,  in  free- 
dom, is  not  diminished,  but  increased  when  it  is  shared. 
The  educated  man  may  have  no  more  property  than  the 
illiterate.  He  has  access  to  a  whole  system  of  social  values. 
He  has  freedom ;  he  has  a  more  genuinely  independent  type 
of  power  than  accrues  from  the  mere  possession  of  things. 


THREE  SPECIAL  PROBLEMS  559 

The  society  of  the  future  will  find  a  part  of  its  justice  in 
so  adjusting  its  economic  system  that  all  may  enter  as 
fully  as  possible  into  this  more  social  world. 

Methods  of  Social  Selection. — Finally,  recognizing  all 
the  value  of  the  competitive  process  in  the  past  as  a 
method  of  selecting  ability,  it  must  be  regarded  as  crude 
and  wasteful.  It  is  like  the  method  of  blind  trial  and 
error  which  obtains  in  the  animal  world.  The  method 
of  ideas,  of  conscious  use  of  means  to  secure  ends,  is  the 
more  effective  and  the  more  rational.  Society  now  is 
gaining  the  scientific  equipment  which  may  allow  the 
substitution  of  the  more  effective  and  less  wasteful  method. 
It  should  discover  and  educate  capacity  instead  of  giving 
merely  a  precarious  encouragement  to  certain  special 
types. 

§  9.    THREE    SPECIAL    PEOBLEMS 

Three  special  problems  may  be  noticed  about  which 
moral  judgment  is  as  yet  uncertain:  The  open  versus  the 
closed  shop,  the  capitalization  of  corporations,  and  the 
"unearned  increment." 

I.  The  Open  versus  the  Closed  Shop. — In  certain  in- 
dustries in  which  the  workmen  are  well  organized  they 
have  made  contracts  with  employers  which  provide  that 
only  union  men  shall  be  employed.  Such  a  shop  is  called 
a  closed  shop,  in  distinction  from  an  "open  shop"  in  which 
non-union  men  may  be  employed  in  part  or  altogether. 
The  psychological  motive  for  the  demand  for  the  closed 
shop  is  natural  enough:  the  union  has  succeeded  in  gain- 
ing certain  advantages  in  hours  or  wages  or  both ;  this  has 
required  some  expense  and  perhaps  some  risk.  It  is  nat- 
ural to  feel  that  those  who  get  the  advantage  should  share 
the  expense  and  effort,  and  failing  this,  should  not  be  ad- 
mitted to  the  shop.  If  the  argument  stopped  here  it  would 
be  insufficient  for  a  moral  justification  for  two  reasons. 
First,  joining  a  union  involves  much  more  than  payment 


560   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

of  dues.  It  means  control  by  the  union  in  ways  which  may 
interfere  with  obhgations  to  family,  or  even  to  the  social 
order.  Hence,  to  exclude  a  fellow  workman  from  the  op- 
portunity to  work  because  he — perhaps  for  conscientious 
reasons — would  not  belong  to  the  union,  could  not  be  justi- 
fied unless  the  union  could  make  it  appear  that  it  was 
maintaining  a  social  and  not  merely  a  group  interest. 
Second,  in  some  cases  unions  have  sought  to  limit  output. 
In  so  far  as  this  is  done  not  for  reasons  of  health  but  to 
raise  prices,  the  union  is  opposing  the  interest  of  con- 
sumers. Here  again  the  union  must  exhibit  a  social  justi- 
fication if  it  is  to  gain  social  approval. 

On  the  other  hand  it  may  be  noted  that  the  individual- 
ist of  the  second  sort — who  believes  in  the  competitive 
struggle  as  a  moral  process — has  no  ground  on  which  to 
declare  for  "open  shop."  Exactly  the  same  principle 
which  would  permit  combination  in  capital  and  place  no 
limit  on  competitive  pressure,  provided  it  is  all  done 
through  free  contracts,  can  raise  no  objection  against 
combinations  of  laborers  making  the  best  contracts  pos- 
sible. When  a  syndicate  of  capitalists  has  made  a  highly 
favorable  contract  or  successfully  underwritten  a  large 
issue  of  stock,  it  is  not  customary  under  the  principle  of 
"open  shop"  to  give  a  share  in  the  contract  to  all  who 
ask  for  it,  or  to  let  the  whole  public  in  "on  the  ground 
floor."  Nor  are  capitalists  accustomed  to  leave  a  part 
of  the  market  to  be  supplied  by  some  competitor  for  fear 
such  competitor  may  suffer  if  he  does  not  have  business. 
When  the  capitalist  argues  for  the  open  shop  upon  the 
ground  of  freedom  and  democracy,  it  seems  like  the  case 
of  the  mote  and  the  beam. 

An  analogy  with  a  political  problem  may  aid:  Has  a 
nation  the  right  to  exclude  (or  tax  heavily)  goods  or  per- 
sons from  other  countries?  May  it  maintain  a  "closed 
shop"?  The  policy  of  the  American  colonists  and  of  the 
United  States  has  varied.     The  Puritans  maintained  a 


THREE  SPECIAL  PROBLEMS  561 

"closed  shop"  on  religious  lines.  They  came  to  this  coun- 
try to  maintain  a  certain  religion  and  polity.  They  ex- 
pelled several  men  who  did  not  agree  with  them.  The 
United  States  excludes  Chinese  laborers,  and  imposes  a 
tariff  which  in  many  cases  is  intended  to  be  prohibitive 
against  the  products  of  other  countries.  This  is  done 
avowedly  to  protect  the  laborer,  and  in  so  far  as  it  is  effect- 
ive it  closes  the  shop.  The  maxim  "This  is  a  white  man's 
country"  is  a  similar  "closed  shop"  utterance.  On  moral 
grounds  the  non-union  man  is  in  the  same  category  as  the 
man  of  alien  race  or  country.  What,  if  anything,  can 
justify  a  nation  or  smaller  group  from  excluding  others 
from  its  benefits?  Clearly  the  only  conditions  are  (1) 
that  the  group  or  nation  is  existing  for  some  morally 
justifiable  end,  which  (2)  would  be  endangered  by  the  ad- 
mission of  the  outsiders.  A  colony  established  to  work 
out  religous  or  political  liberty  would  be  justified  in 
excluding  a  multitude  who  sought  to  enter  it  and  then  sub- 
vert these  principles.  If  a  union  is  working  for  a  morally 
valuable  end,  e.g.,  a  certain  standard  of  living  which  is 
morally  desirable,  and  if  this  were  threatened  by  the  ad- 
mission of  non-union  men,  the  closed  shop  would  seem  to 
be  justified.  If  the  purpose  were  merely  to  secure  certain 
advantages  to  a  small  group,  and  if  the  open  shop  would 
not  lower  the  standard  but  merely  extend  its  range  of 
benefits,  it  is  hard  to  see  why  the  closed  shop  is  not  a 
selfish  principle — though  no  more  selfish  than  the  grounds 
on  which  the  tariff  is  usually  advocated. 

2.  The  Capitalization  of  Corporations,  especially  of 
public  service  corporations,  is  a  matter  on  which  there 
is  a  difference  of  policy  in  different  states,  owing  probably, 
to  uncertainty  as  to  the  morality  of  the  principles  in- 
volved. The  two  theories  held  are:  (a)  Companies  should 
issue  capital  stock  only  on  the  basis  of  money  paid  in; 
dividends  then  represent  a  return  on  actual  investment, 
(b)  Companies  may  issue  whatever  stock  they  please,  or 


562      UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

whatever  they  expect  their  income  will  enable  them  to  pay 
dividends  upon;  dividends  will  then  represent  return  for 
valuable  privileges,  or  for  some  utility  to  be  marketed. 
In  behalf  of  this  latter  view  it  may  be  claimed  that  if  the 
company  pays  dividends  the  investors  have  nothing  to 
complain  of,  and  if  it  sells  its  products  or  transportation 
at  market  rates,  the  consumer  has  nothing  to  complain  of. 
So  far  as  the  relations  between  corporation  and  investor 
are  concerned,  the  issues  are  simple.  If  the  stocks  are 
issued  with  no  expectation  that  they  will  give  any  return, 
merely  to  "sell,"  it  is  pure  dishonesty,  of  the  same  type 
which  under  cruder  conditions  sold  spavined  horses  or  made 
counterfeit  money,  and  now  assumes  the  more  vulgar  type 
of  dealing  in  "green  goods."  The  fact  that  fictitious 
capital  can  be  publicly  advertised,  gives  it  a  financial 
but  not  a  moral  advantage.  This,  however,  would  have 
such  decided  limitations,  credulous  as  human  nature  is, 
that  if  fictitious  capital  paid  no  dividends  it  would  soon 
have  no  market.  Hence,  for  the  far-seeing  promoter, 
the  pressure  is  toward  making  some  at  least  of  the  ficti- 
tious capital  pay  dividends.  What  is  the  principle  in 
this  case?  If  we  are  dealing  with  a  new  and  untried  mode 
of  production  or  public  service,  the  case  is  simply  that 
of  any  speculation.  If  a  proposed  product  has  a  possi- 
ble utility,  but  at  the  same  time  involves  so  much  risk 
that  in  the  long  run  only  half  of  such  enterprises  will 
succeed,  society  may  consider  it  worth  offering  a  profit 
equal  to  fifty  per  cent,  in  order  to  pay  for  the  risk.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  income  is  to  derive  from  valuable 
public  franchises,  or  from  the  growth  of  the  community 
and  its  necessities,  the  case  is  different.  Here  there  is 
little,  if  any,  risk  for  which  it  is  fair  for  society  to  pay. 
The  excessive  capital  beyond  the  cost  is  designed  to  dis- 
guise the  rate  of  profit,  and  therefore  conceal  from  the 
community  the  cost  of  the  goods  or  service.  If  the  public 
demands  cheaper  rates  it  is  told  that  the  company  is  now 


THREE  SPECIAL  PROBLEMS  563 

paying  only  a  fair  dividend  upon  its  stock.^  The  usual 
method  of  capitalizing  many  enterprises  of  a  quasi-public 
sort  is  to  issue  bonds  to  cover  the  cost  of  construction 
or  plant,  and  then  one  or  more  series  of  stocks  which 
are  known  as  "velvet.  In  part  these  stocks  may  represent 
a  work  of  organization  which  is  a  legitimate  public 
service,  but  in  many  cases  they  represent  devices  for 
transferring  public  wealth  to  private  property.  Enor- 
mous sums  have  been  taken  from  the  public  in  this 
manner.  The  element  which  makes  this  method  particu- 
larly obnoxious  is  that  the  quasi-public  corporations  are 
given  a  monopoly  by  the  community  and  then  take  ad- 
vantage of  this  to  capitalize  indefinitely  the  necessities  of 
a  growing  community.  In  this  case  the  conception  of 
public  service  is  lost  sight  of  In  the  "dazzling  possi- 
bility of  public  exploitation."  ^ 

Few  methods  of  extorting  wealth  have  equaled  this. 
In  some  cases  bribery  of  public  officials  has  added  an  item 
of  expense  to  be  collected  later  from  the  public.  When 
the  various  forms  of  public  service  or  protected  Industry 
were  first  projected  there  was  risk  involved.  It  was  neces- 
sary to  offer  inducements  to  capital  to  engage  in  them. 
It  was  desirable  to  have  railroads,  gas,  water,  express 
service.  But  as  the  factor  of  risk  has  been  eliminated,  the 
public  tires  of  paying  double  prices,  and  a  "fair"  return 
must  be  estimated  on  the  basis  of  actual  rather  than 
fictitious  capital.  The  public  has  come  to  have  a  clear 
idea  as  to  the  morality  of  such  practices  as  have  been 
employed  in  letting  contracts  for  public  buildings  at 
prices  far  above  market  value.  The  New  York  City  court- 
house and  Pennsylvania  capitol  offer  familiar  examples. 
Does  it  differ  materially  from  such  practices  when  a  com- 

*  As  in  the  case  of  gas  in  New  York  City,  where  the  court  has 
decided  that  the  public  cannot  refuse  to  pay  interest  on  the  value  of 
the  franchise — its  own  gift. 

*  Cf.  Hadley,  Economics,  p.  159. 


564   UNSETTLED  ECONOMIC  PROBLEMS 

pany  charges  the  pubHc  an  excessive  price  for  transporta- 
tion or  Hghting,  and  when  State  or  municipal  authori- 
ties authorize  by  franchise  or  monopoly  such  excessive 
charges?  Probably  the  conscience  of  the  next  century, 
if  not  of  the  next  generation,  will  fail  to  see  the  superior 
moral  quality  of  the  latter  procedure. 

3.  The  "Unearned  Increment." — This  term  is  apphed 
most  frequently  to  the  increase  in  land  value  or  franchise 
value  which  is  due,  not  to  the  owner,  but  to  the  growth 
of  the  community.  A  tract  of  land  is  bought  at  a  price 
fixed  by  its  value  as  farm  land.  A  city  grows  up.  The 
owner  of  the  land  may  have  been  active  in  the  building 
up  of  industry,  but  he  may  not.  An  increase  of  values 
follows,  which  is  due  to  the  growth  of  the  community. 
Shall  the  owner  have  it  all,  or  shall  the  community  have 
it  all,  or  shall  there  be  a  division?  The  growth  in  value 
of  a  franchise  for  gas,  electric  lighting,  transportation, 
presents  the  same  problem.  It  is  not  usually  recognized, 
however,  that  the  same  principle  is  found  in  every  in- 
crease of  value  due  to  increasing  demand.  The  logical 
basis  for  distinction  would  seem  to  be  that  in  some  cases 
increase  of  demand  calls  out  competition,  and  the  price  is 
lowered;  the  public  thus  receives  its  share  in  lower  cost. 
In  other  cases,  notably  those  first  mentioned,  there  can 
be  no  competition,  the  price  is  therefore  not  often  lowered 
unless  by  legislative  action,  and  the  whole  benefit  goes 
to  the  owner  of  land  or  franchise.  As  regards  land,  the 
case  is  much  stronger  in  Europe,  for  land  titles  were 
originally  gained  there  largely  by  seizure,  whereas 
in  America  private  titles  have  been  largely  through 
purchase. 

Individualism,  according  as  it  argues  from  the  platform 
of  natural  rights  or  from  that  of  social  welfare,  would 
claim  either  that  individuals  should  have  all  the  increase 
because  they  have  a  right  to  all  they  can  get  under  a 
system  of  free  contracts,  or  that  it  is  for  the  social  wel- 


THREE  SPECIAL  PROBLEMS  565 

fare  to  allow  them  all  they  can  get  since  private  property 
is  public  wealth.  From  the  standpoint  of  natural  rights 
the  reply  would  seem  to  be  unanswerable:  the  community 
gives  the  increased  value;  it  belongs  to  the  community. 
From  the  standpoint  of  social  welfare  the  answer  is  not 
so  simple.  It  might,  for  example,  be  socially  desirable  to 
encourage  the  owners  of  farming  land  by  leaving  to  them 
the  increase  in  value  due  to  the  growth  of  the  country, 
whereas  city  land-owners  might  need  no  such  inducement. 
Investors  in  a  new  form  of  public  service  corporation 
might  need  greater  inducements  than  would  be  fair  to 
those  in  enterprises  well  established.  But,  although  de- 
tails are  complex,  the  social  conscience  is  working  toward 
this  general  principle:  the  community  should  share  in 
the  values  which  it  produces.  If  it  cannot  do  this  by 
cheaper  goods  and  better  service,  it  must  by  graded  taxa- 
tion, by  ownership,  or  by  some  other  means.  The  British 
government  has  already  considered  a  measure  for  ascer- 
taining the  land  values  in  Scotland  as  a  preliminary  step 
toward  adjustment  of  this  question. 


APPENDIX  TO  CHAPTER  XXV 


WITH   SPECIAL   REFERENCE   TO   WAGE-EARNERS 

In  the  conviction  that  in  the  field  of  social  legislation 
the  United  States  is  behind  the  more  progressive  countries 
of  Europe,  Professor  Henry  R.  Seager,  of  Columbia  Uni- 
versity, presented  the  following  Outline  for  discussion  at 
a  meeting  of  the  American  Association  for  Labor  Legis- 
lation, December  30,  1907.  It  is  reproduced  with  his 
consent  as  giving  concrete  expression  to  several  of  the 
principles  advocated  in  the  foregoing  chapters. 

The  ends  to  be  aimed  at  in  any  programme  of  social  legisla- 
tion are: 

I.  To  protect  wage-earners  in  the  continued  enjoyment  of 
standards  of  living  to  which  they  are  already  accustomed. 

II.  To  assist  them  to  attain  to  higher  standards  of  living. 

/.  Measures  to  protect  prevailing  standards  of  living. 

The  principal  contingencies  which  threaten  standards  of 
living  already  acquired  are:  (1)  industrial  accidents;  (2)  ill- 
ness; (3)  invalidity  and  old  age;  (4)  premature  death;  (5) 
unemployment.  These  contingencies  are  not  in  practice  ade- 
quately provided  against  by  wage-earners  themselves.  In 
consequence  the  losses  they  entail,  in  the  absence  of  any  social 
provision  against  them,  fall  with  crushing  force  on  the  families 
which  suffer  from  them,  and  only  too  often  reduce  such  families 
from  a  position  of  independence  and  self-respect  to  one  of 
humiliating  and  efficiency-destroying  social  dependency.  The 
following  remedies  for  the  evils  resulting  from  this  situation 
are  suggested. 

(1)  Employers'  liability  laws  fail  to  provide  adequate  in- 
demnity to  the  victims  of  industrial  accidents  because  in  a  large 
proportion  of  cases  no  legal  blame  attaches  to  the  employer 

566 


PROFESSOR  SEAGER'S  PROGRAMME      567 

and  because  litigation  under  them  is  costly  and  uncertain  in 
its  outcome.  Adequate  indemnification  must  be  sought  along 
the  line  of  workmen's  compensation  for  all  industrial  accidents 
at  the  expense  of  the  employer  (the  British  system)  or  of 
compulsory  accident  insurance  (the  German  system).  The 
former  seems  to  accord  better  with  American  ideas  and 
traditions. 

(2)  The  principle  of  workmen's  compensation  may  be  ex- 
tended to  include  indemnity  for  loss  of  wages  due  to  trade 
diseases.  Provision  against  illness  not  directly  traceable  to 
the  employment  must  be  sought  either  in  compulsory  illness 
insurance  or  in  subsidized  and  state-directed  sick-insurance 
clubs.  Trade  unions  may  assume  the  functions  of  such  clubs 
in  organized  trades.  The  latter  plan  seems  better  suited  to 
present  American  conditions  than  compulsory  illness  insurance. 

(3)  Provision  against  invalidity  and  old  age  may  be  through 
compulsory  old  age  insurance,  or  through  state  old  age  pen- 
sions. The  latter,  though  more  costly,  are  believed  to  be  better 
suited  to  American  conditions,  when  hedged  about  by  proper 
restrictions,  than  compulsory  old  age  insurance  with  the  elabo- 
rate administrative  machinery  which  it  entails. 

(4)  Premature  death  may  be  provided  against  by  an  ex- 
tension of  the  machinery  for  caring  for  the  victims  of  industrial 
accident  and  of  illness  to  provide  for  their  families  when  ac- 
cident or  illness  results  fatally. 

(5)  Provision  against  losses  due  to  unemployment  is  at- 
tended with  great  difficulties  because  unemployment  is  so  fre- 
quently the  consequence  of  incapacity  or  of  disinclination  for 
continuous  labor.  The  most  promising  plan  for  providing 
against  this  evil  appears  to  be  through  subsidizing  and  super- 
vising trade  unions  which  pay  out-of-work  benefits  to  stimulate 
this  side  of  their  activity.  Public  employment  bureaus  and 
industrial  colonies  for  the  unemployed  may  also  help  to 
alleviate  the  evil  of  unemployment. 

Adequate  social  provision  against  these  five  contingencies 
along  the  lines  suggested,  would,  it  is  believed,  go  a  long  way 
towards  solving  the  problem  of  social  dependency.  If  these 
concessions  were  made  to  the  demands  of  social  justice,  a  more 
drastic  policy  towards  social  dependents  than  public  opinion 
will  now  sanction  might  be  inaugurated  with  good  prospect  of 
confining  social  dependency  to  the  physically,  mentally,  and 
morally  defective. 


568     APPENDIX  TO  CHAPTER  XXVI 

//.  Measures  to  elevate  standards  of  living. 

The  primary  conditions  essential  to  rising  standards  of  liv- 
ing are  energy  and  enterprise  on  the  part  of  wage-earners  and 
opportunities  to  make  energy  and  enterprise  count  in  the  form 
of  higher  earnings.  The  principal  contributions  which  social 
legislation  may  make  to  advancing  standards  of  living  in  the 
United  States  are  believed  to  be:  (1)  measures  serving  to  en- 
courage saving  for  future  needs  on  the  part  of  wage-earners 
by  providing  safe  investments  for  savings;  (2)  measures  pro- 
tecting wage-earners  from  the  debilitating  effects  of  an  un- 
regulated competition;  (3)  measures  serving  to  bring  within 
the  reach  of  all  opportunities  for  industrial  training.  Stand- 
ards of  living  will  also  be  advanced,  of  course,  by  nearly  all 
measures  calculated  to  promote  the  general  well-being,  such  as 
tax  and  tariff-reform  legislation,  laws  safeguarding  the  na- 
tional domain,  the  public  regulation  of  corporations,  especially 
those  with  monopolistic  powers,  etc.,  but  these  are  not  usually 
classed  under  the  head  of  social  legislation. 

( 1 )  The  greatest  present  need  under  this  head  is  for  a  postal 
savings  bank  like  those  of  European  countries.  The  advan- 
tages of  a  postal  savings  bank  over  privately  managed  banks 
are  the  wider  distribution  of  places  of  deposit,  post-offices  being 
located  in  every  section  of  the  country,  and  the  greater  confi- 
dence depositors  would  feel  in  such  a  bank.  Once  established 
the  postal  savings  bank  might  enter  the  insurance  field,  as  has 
the  British  postal  savings  bank,  not  as  a  rival  of  privately 
managed  insurance  companies,  but  to  bring  to  every  wage- 
earner  the  opportunity  to  secure  safe  insurance.  Next  to 
providing  itself  opportunities  for  safe  investment  and  insur- 
ance, the  government  has  an  important  duty  to  perform  in 
supervising  the  business  of  privately  managed  savings  banks 
and  insurance  companies.  Notwithstanding  the  progress  made 
in  recent  years  in  the  United  States  in  this  field,  there  is  still 
something  left  for  social  legislation  to  accomplish. 

(2)  If  energy  and  enterprise  are  to  be  kept  at  a  maximum, 
wage-earners  must  be  protected  from  exhausting  toil  under 
unhealthful  conditions.  Skilled  wage-earners  can  usually  pro- 
tect themselves  through  trade  unions,  but  unskilled  workers, 
women  and  children,  require  legal  protection.  Under  this  head 
belong,  therefore,  the  familiar  types  of  protective  labor  laws. 
The  following  may  be  specified : 

(a)  Laws  prohibiting  the  employment  of  children  below 


PROFESSOR  SEAGER'S  PROGRAMME      569 

fourteen  in  all  gainful  pursuits.  Such  laws  should  be  uniform 
throughout  the  United  States  and  rigidly  enforced  by  means  of 
employment  certificates  based  on  convincing  evidence  of  age 
and  physical  examination  to  determine  fitness.  As  provision 
for  free  public  education  is  made  more  adequate  to  present 
needs  the  minimum  age  may  be  advanced  perhaps  to  sixteen. 

(b)  Laws  limiting  the  hours  of  labor  of  young  persons  over 
fourteen.  Protection  here  should  extend  to  eighteen,  at  least 
in  factory  employments,  and  employment  certificates  should 
be  required  of  all  under  that  age. 

(c)  Laws  limiting  the  hours  of  labor  of  women.  In  the 
regulation  of  women's  work  in  the  United  States  the  principal 
needs  are  uniformity  and  machinery  for  efficient  enforcement. 
The  last  is  facilitated  by  the  plan  of  specifying  in  the  law  the 
working  period  for  the  protected  classes,  and  American  courts 
must  be  brought  to  see  the  reasonableness  (administratively) 
of  such  prescriptions.  The  nine-hour  day  and  prohibition  of 
night  work  set  a  high  enough  standard  until  greater  uniformity 
and  more  efficient  enforcement  shall  have  been  secured. 

(d)  Prescriptions  in  regard  to  sanitation  and  safety  ap- 
pliances. General  prescriptions  in  regard  to  ventilation,  etc., 
need  to  be  made  more  exact,  and  much  more  attention  needs  to 
be  given  to  the  special  regulation  of  dangerous  trades,  the 
existence  of  which  has  been  largely  ignored  thus  far  in  Amer- 
ican legislation. 

(3)  The  chief  reason  for  restricting  the  labor  of  children 
and  young  persons  is  to  permit  the  physical  and  mental  de- 
velopment of  childhood  and  youth  to  proceed  unhampered  and 
to  ripen  into  strong,  vigorous,  and  efficient  manhood  and 
womanhood.  To  attain  this  end,  it  is  necessary  to  provide  not 
only  for  wholesome  living  conditions  and  general  free  public 
education,  but  also  for  special  industrial  training  for  older 
children  superior  to  the  training  afforded  in  modern  factories 
and  workshops.  The  apprenticeship  system  now  fails  as  a 
method  of  industrial  training,  even  in  those  few  trades  which 
retain  the  forms  of  apprenticeship.  There  is  urgent  social 
need  for  comprehensive  provision  for  industrial  training  as  a 
part  of  the  public  school  system,  not  to  take  the  place  of  the 
training  now  given  to  children  under  fourteen,  but  to  hold  those 
between  fourteen  and  sixteen  in  school.  As  this  need  is 
supplied  the  period  of  compulsory  school  attendance  may 
gradually  be  extended  up  to  the  sixteenth  year.  The  guiding 
principle  of  such  industrial  training  should  be  that  it  is  the 


570  APPENDIX  TO  CHAPTER  XXVI 

function  of  free  public  education  in  the  United  States  not  only 
to  prepare  children  to  lead  useful,  well-rounded  and  happy- 
lives,  but  to  command  the  earnings  without  which  such  lives  are 
impossible. 

The  above  programme  of  social  legislation  is  urged  as  a  step 
towards  realizing  that  canon  of  social  justice  which  demands 
for  all  equal  industrial  opportunities.  It  is  believed  that  it  will 
also  help  to  raise  the  standard  of  citizenship  in  the  country  by- 
making  both  wage-earners  and  employers  more  intelligent, 
more  efficient,  and  more  truly  democratic.  Thus  it  will  serve 
to  prepare  the  way  for  such  further  industrial  reorganization 
as  may  be  found  desirable. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  FAMILY 

The  family  in  its  moral  aspects  has  one  end,  the  com- 
mon good  of  all  its  members,  but  this  has  three  aspects. 
(1)  Marriage  converts  an  attachment  between  man  and 
woman,  either  of  passion  or  of  friendship,  into  a  delib- 
erate, intimate,  permanent,  responsible  union  for  a  com- 
mon end  cf  mutual  good.  It  is  this  common  end,  a  good 
of  a  higher,  broader,  fuller  sort  than  either  could  attain 
in  isolation,  which  lifts  passion  from  the  impulsive  or 
selfish  to  the  moral  plane;  it  is  the  peculiar  intimacy 
^-nd  the  peculiar  demands  for  common  sympathy  and  co- 
operation, which  give  it  greater  depth  and  reach  than 
ordinary  friendship.  (2)  The  family  is  the  great  social 
agency  for  the  care  and  training  of  the  race.  (3)  This 
function  reacts  upon  the  character  of  the  parents.  Ten- 
derness, sympathy,  self-sacrifice,  steadiness  of  purpose, 
responsibility,  and  activity,  are  all  demanded  and  usually 
evoked  by  the  children.  A  brief  sketch  of  the  development 
of  the  family  and  of  its  psychological  basis,  will  prepare 
the  way  for  a  consideration  of  its  present  problems. 

§  1.    HISTORICAL  ANTECEDENTS   OF   THE   MODERN    FAMILY 

The  division  of  the  sexes  appeals  to  the  biologist  as 
an  agency  for  securing  greater  variability,  and  so  greater 
possibility  of  adaptation  and  progress.  It  has  also  to 
the  sociologist  the  value  of  giving  greater  variety  in 
function,  and  so  a  much  richer  society  than  could  exist 
without  it.     Morally,  the  realization  of  these  values,  and 

671 


572  THE  FAMILY 

the  further  effects  upon  character  noted  above,  depend 
greatly  upon  the  terms  under  which  the  marriage  union 
is  formed  and  maintained.  The  number  of  parties  to 
the  union,  the  mode  of  forming  it,  its  stabihty,  and  the  rela- 
tions of  husband  and  wife,  parents  and  children,  while  in 
the  family  relation,  have  shown  in  western  civilization  a 
tendency  toward  certain  lines  of  progress,  although  the 
movement  has  been  irregular  and  has  been  interrupted  by 
certain  halts  or  even  reversions. 

The  Maternal  Type. — The  early  family,  certainly  in 
many  parts  of  the  world,  was  formed  when  a  man  left 
his  father  and  mother  to  "cleave  unto  his  wife,"  that  is, 
when  the  woman  remained  in  her  own  group  and  the  man 
came  from  his  group  to  live  with  her.  This  tended  to 
give  the  woman  continued  protection — and  also  contin- 
ued control — by  her  own  relatives,  and  made  the  children 
belong  to  the  mother's  clan.  As  recent  ethnologists  seem 
inclined  to  agree,  this  does  not  mean  a  matriarchal  family. 
The  woman's  father  and  brothers,  rather  than  the  woman, 
are  in  the  last  analysis  the  authority.  At  the  same  time, 
at  a  stage  when  physical  force  is  so  large  a  factor,  this 
type  of  family  undoubtedly  favors  the  woman's  condition 
as  compared  with  the  next  to  be  mentioned. 

The  Paternal  Type. — When  the  woman  leaves  her  own 
group  to  live  in  the  house  of  her  husband,  it  means  a  pos- 
sible loss  of  backing  and  position  for  her.  But  it  means 
a  great  gain  for  the  influence  which  insures  the  wife's 
fidelity,  the  father's  authority  over  the  children  and 
interest  in  them,  and  finally  the  permanence  of  the  family. 
The  power  of  the  husband  and  father  reached  its  extreme 
among  western  peoples  in  the  patriarchate  at  Rome, 
which  allowed  him  the  right  of  life  and  death.  At  its 
best  the  patriarchal  type  of  family  fostered  the  dignity 
and  power  of  a  ruler  and  owner,  the  sense  of  honor  which 
watched  jealously  over  self  and  wife  and  children  to 
keep  the  name  unsullied;  finally  the  respective  attitudes 


HISTORICAL  ANTECEDENTS  OF  FAMILY    573 

of  protector  and  protected  enhanced  the  charm  of  each 
for  the  other.  At  its  worst  it  meant  domineering  bru- 
tahty,  and  either  the  weakness  of  abject  submission  or 
the  misery  of  hopeless  injustice. 

Along  with  this  building  up  of  "father  right"  came 
variations  in  the  mode  of  gaining  a  wife.  When  the  man 
takes  a  wife  instead  of  going  to  his  wife,  he  may  either 
capture  her,  or  purchase  her,  or  serve  for  her.  In  any 
of  these  cases  she  may  become  to  a  certain  extent  his  prop- 
erty as  well  as  his  wife.  This  does  not  necessarily  imply  a 
feeling  of  humiliation.  The  Kafir  women  profess  great 
contempt  for  a  system  in  which  a  woman  is  not  worth 
buying.  But  it  evidently  favors  a  commercial  theory  of 
the  whole  relation.  The  bride's  consent  may  sometimes 
be  a  necessary  part  of  the  transaction,  but  it  is  not 
always. 

Effects  of  Father  Right.  — This  family  of  "father 
right"  is  also  likely  to  encourage  a  theory  that  the  man 
should  have  greater  freedom  in  marriage  than  the  woman. 
In  the  lowest  types  of  civilization  we  often  find  the  marital 
relations  very  loose  from  our  point  of  view,  although,  as 
was  noted  in  Chapter  II.,  these  peoples  usually  make  up 
for  this  in  the  rigidity  of  the  rules  as  to  who  may  marry 
or  have  marriage  relations.  With  some  advance  in 
civilization  and  with  the  father  right,  we  are  very  apt 
to  find  polygamy  permitted  to  chiefs  or  those  who  can 
afford  it,  even  though  the  average  man  may  have  but 
one  wife.  In  certain  cases  the  wives  may  be  an  eco- 
nomic advantage  rather  than  a  burden.  It  goes  along 
with  a  family  in  which  father  and  children  are  of  first 
importance  that  a  wife  may  even  be  glad  to  have  her 
servant  bear  the  children  if  they  may  only  be  reckoned 
as  hers.  The  husband  has  thus  greater  freedom — for 
polyandry  seems  to  have  been  rare  among  civilized 
peoples  except  under  stress  of  poverty.  The  greater 
freedom  of  the  husband  is  likely  to  appear  also  in  the 


574  THE  FAMILY 

matter  of  divorce.  Among  many  savage  peoples  divorce 
is  easy  for  both  parties  if  there  is  mutual  consent,  but 
with  the  families  in  which  father  right  prevails  it  is 
almost  always  easier  for  the  man.  The  ancient  Hebrew 
might  divorce  his  wife  for  any  cause  he  pleased,  but 
there  is  no  mention  of  a  similar  right  on  her  part,  and 
it  doubtless  did  not  occur  to  the  lawgiver.  The  code  of 
Hammurabi  allows  the  man  to  put  away  the  mother  of 
his  children  by  giving  her  and  her  children  suitable  main- 
tenance, or  a  childless  wife  by  returning  the  bride  price, 
but  a  wife  who  has  acted  foolishly  or  extravagantly  may 
be  divorced  without  compensation  or  kept  as  a  slave.  The 
woman  may  also  claim  a  divorce  "if  she  has  been  eco- 
nomical and  has  no  vice  and  her  husband  has  gone  out 
and  greatly  behttled  her."  But  if  she  fails  to  prove 
her  claim  and  appears  to  be  a  gadder-about,  "they  shall 
throw  that  woman  into  the  water."  India  and  China 
have  the  patriarchal  family,  and  the  Brahmans  added  the 
obligation  of  the  widow  never  to  remarry.  Greater  free- 
dom of  divorce  on  the  part  of  the  husband  is  also  attended 
by  a  very  different  standard  for  marital  faithfulness. 
For  the  unfaithful  husband  there  is  frequently  no  penalty 
or  a  slight  one ;  for  the  wife  it  is  frequently  death. 

The  Roman  Family. — The  modern  family  in  western 
civilization  is  the  product  of  three  main  forces:  the 
Roman  law,  the  Teutonic  custom,  and  the  Christian 
Church.  Early  Roman  law  had  recognized  the  extreme 
power  of  the  husband  and  father.  Wife  and  children 
were  in  his  "hand."  All  women  must  be  in  the  tutela  of 
some  man.  The  woman,  according  to  the  three  early 
forms  of  marriage,  passed  completely  from  the  power  and 
hand  of  her  father  into  that  of  her  husband.  At  the 
same  time  she  was  the  only  wife,  and  divorce  was  rare. 
But  by  the  closing  years  of  the  Republic  a  new  method 
of  marriage,  permitting  the  woman  to  remain  in  the 
manus  of  her  father,  had  come  into  vogue,  and  with  it 


HISTORICAL  ANTECEDENTS  OF  FAMILY    575 

an  easy  theory  of  divorce.  Satirists  have  charged  great 
degeneracy  in  morals  as  a  result,  but  Hobhouse  thinks 
that  upon  the  whole  the  Roman  matron  would  seem  to  have 
retained  the  position  of  her  husband's  companion,  coun- 
selor, and  friend,  which  she  had  held  in  those  more  austere 
times  when  marriage  brought  her  legally  under  his 
dominion/ 

The  Germanic  Family. — The  Germanic  peoples  recog- 
nized an  almost  unlimited  power  of  the  husband.  The 
passion  for  liberty,  which  Caesar  remarked  as  prevalent 
among  them,  did  not  seem  to  require  any  large  measure 
of  freedom  for  their  women.  In  fact,  they,  like  other  peo- 
ples, might  be  said  to  have  satisfied  the  two  principles 
of  freedom  and  control  by  allotting  all  the  freedom  to 
the  men  and  all,  or  nearly  all,  the  control  to  the  women. 
Hobhouse  thus  summarizes  the  conditions: 

"The  power  of  the  husband  was  strongly  developed;  he  might 
expose  the  infant  children,  chastise  his  wife,  dispose  of  her 
person.  He  could  not  put  her  to  death,  but  if  she  was  unfaith- 
ful, he  was,  with  the  consent  of  the  relations,  judge  and  execu- 
tioner. The  wife  was  acquired  by  purchase  from  her  own  rel- 
atives without  reference  to  her  own  desires,  and  by  purchase 
passed  out  of  her  family.  She  did  not  inherit  in  early  times  at 
all,  though  at  a  later  period  she  acquired  that  right  in  the 
absence  of  male  heirs.  She  was  in  perpetual  ward,  subject,  in 
short,  to  the  Chinese  rule  of  the  three  obediences,  to  which  must 
be  added,  as  feudal  powers  developed,  the  rule  of  the  king  or 
other  feudal  superior.  And  the  guardianship  or  mundium  was 
frankly  regarded  in  early  law  rather  as  a  source  of  profit  to 
the  guardian  than  as  a  means  of  defense  to  the  ward,  and  for 
this  reason  it  fetched  a  price  in  the  market,  and  was,  in  fact, 
salable  far  down  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Lastly,  the  German 
wife,  though  respected,  had  not  the  certainty  enjoyed  by  the 
early  Roman  Matron  of  reigning  alone  in  the  household.  It  is 
true  that  polygamy  was  rare  in  the  early  German  tribes,  but 
this,  as  we  have  seen,  is  universally  the  case  where  the  numbers 

*  Morals  in  Evolution,  Part  I.,  p.  216. 


^76  THE  FAMILY 

of  the  sexes   are   equal.       Polygamy   was   allowed^   and  was 
practiced  by  the  chiefs." 

Two  Lines  of  Church  Influence. — The  influence  of  the 
church  on  marriage  and  family  life  was  in  two  conflicting 
lines.  On  the  one  hand,  the  homage  and  adoration 
given  to  Mary  and  to  the  saints,  tended  to  exalt  and 
refine  the  conception  of  woman.  Marriage  was,  more- 
over, treated  as  a  "sacrament,"  a  holy  mystery,  symbolic 
of  the  relation  of  Christ  and  the  church.  The  priestly 
benediction  gave  religious  sacredness  from  the  beginning; 
gradually  a  marriage  liturgy  sprang  up  which  added  to 
the  solemnity  of  the  event,  and  finally  the  whole  ceremony 
was  made  an  ecclesiastical  instead  of  a  secular  function.^ 
The  whole  institution  was  undoubtedly  raised  to  a  more 
serious  and  significant  position.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
an  ascetic  stream  of  influence  had  pursued  a  similar 
course,  deepening  and  widening  as  it  flowed.  Although 
from  the  beginning  those  "forbidding  to  marry"  had  been 
denounced,  it  had  nearly  always  been  held  that  the  celibate 
life  was  a  higher  privilege.  If  marriage  was  a  sacra- 
ment, it  was  nevertheless  held  that  marriage  made  a  man 
unfit  to  perform  the  sacraments.  Woman  was  regarded 
as  the  cause  of  the  original  sin.  Marriage  was  from  this 
standpoint  a  concession  to  human  weakness.  "The  gen- 
erality of  men  and  women  must  marry  or  they  will  do 
worse;  therefore,  marriage  must  be  made  easy;  but  the 
very  pure  hold  aloof  from  it  as  from  a  defilement.  The 
law  that  springs  from  this  source  is  not  pleasant  to 
read."  ^  It  must,  however,  be  noted  that,  although  celi- 
bacy by  a  selective  process  tended  to  remove  continually 
the  finer,  more  aspiring  men  and  women,  and  prevent  them 
from  leaving  any  descendants,  it  had  one  important  value 
for  woman.     The  convent  was  at  once  a  refuge,  and  a 

*  Howard,  History  of  Matrimonial  Institutions,  I.,  ch.  vii. 
2  Pollock  and  Maitland,  Hist.  Eng.  Law,  II.,  383,  quoted  in  Howard, 
I.,  325-26. 


HISTORICAL  ANTECEDENTS  OF  FAMILY    577 

door  to  activity.  "The  career  open  to  the  inmates  of 
convents  was  greater  than  any  other  ever  thrown  open 
to  women  in  the  course  of  modern  European  history."  ^ 

Two  important  contributions  to  the  justice  of  the  mar- 
riage relation,  and  therefore  to  the  better  theory  of  the 
family,  are  in  any  case  to  be  set  down  to  the  credit 
of  the  church.  The  first  was  that  the  consent  of  the 
parties  was  the  only  thing  necessary  to  constitute  a  valid 
marriage.  "Here  the  church  had  not  only  to  combat 
old  tradition  and  the  authority  of  the  parents,  but  also 
the  seignorial  power  of  the  feudal  lord,  and  it  must  be 
accounted  to  it  for  righteousness  that  it  emancipated  the 
woman  of  the  servile  as  well  as  of  the  free  classes  in  rela- 
tion to  the  most  important  event  of  her  life."  ^  The  other 
was  that  in  maintaining  as  it  did  the  indissolubility  of 
the  sacramental  marriage,  it  held  that  its  violation  was 
as  bad  for  the  husband  as  for  the  wife.  The  older 
theories  had  looked  at  infidelity  either  as  an  injury  to 
the  husband's  property,  or  as  introducing  uncertainty 
as  to  the  parenthood  of  children,  and  this  survives  in  Dr. 
Johnson's  dictum  of  a  "boundless"  difference.  The  feel- 
ings of  the  wife,  or  even  of  the  husband,  aside  from  his 
concern  for  his  property  and-  children,  do  not  seem  to 
have  been  considered. 

The  church  thus  modified  the  Germanic  and  Roman 
traditions,  but  never  entirely  abolished  them,  because  she 
was  divided  within  herself  as  to  the  real  place  of  family 
life.  Protestantism,  in  its  revolt  from  Rome,  opposed 
both  its  theories  of  marriage.  On  the  one  hand,  the  Re- 
formers held  that  marriage  is  not  a  sacrament,  but  a  civil 
contract,  admitting  of  divorce.  On  the  other  hand,  they 
regarded  marriage  as  the  most  desirable  state,  and  abol- 
ished the  celibacy  of  the  clergy.  The  "subjection  of 
women,"  especially  of  married  women,  has,  however,  re- 

^  Eckstein,    Woman  under  Monasticism,  p.  478. 
*  Hobhouse,  op.  cit.,  I.,  218. 


578  THE  FAMILY 

mained  as  the  legal  theory  until  very  recently.  In  Eng- 
land it  was  the  theory  in  Blackstone's  time  that  "The 
very  being  or  legal  existence  of  the  woman  is  suspended 
during  the  marriage,  or  at  least  is  incorporated  and  con- 
solidated into  that  of  the  husband,  under  whose  wing, 
protection,  and  cover,  she  performs  everything."  Ac- 
cording to  the  old  law,  he  might  give  her  "moderate 
correction."  "But  with  us  in  the  politer  reign  of  Charles 
II.,  this  power  of  correction  began  to  be  doubted."  It 
was  not  until  1882,  however,  that  a  married  woman  in 
England  gained  control  of  her  property.  In  the  United 
States  the  old  injustice  of  the  common  law  has  been  gradu- 
ally remedied  by  statutes  until  substantial  equality  in  rela- 
tion to  property  and  children  has  been  secured. 

§  2.    THE    PSYCHOLOGICAL    BASIS    OF    THE    FAMILY 

The  psychology  of  family  life  may  be  conveniently 
considered  under  two  heads:  that  of  the  husband  and 
wife,  and  that  of  parents  and  children,  brothers  and 
sisters. 

1.  The  complex  sentiment,  love,  which  is  found  in  the 
most  perfect  family  life,  is  on  the  one  hand  (1)  a  feeling 
or  emotion;  on  the  other  (S)  a  purpose,  a  will.  Both 
these  are  modified  and  strengthened  by  (3)  parenthood 
and  (4)  social  and  religious  influences. 

(i)  The  Emotional  and  Instinctive  Basis. — As  feeling 
or  emotion  love  may  have  two  roots.  A  mental  sympathy, 
based  on  kindred  tastes  and  interests,  is  sometimes  pres- 
ent at  the  outset,  but  in  any  case  it  is  likely  to  develop 
under  the  favoring  conditions  of  a  common  life,  particu- 
larly if  there  are  either  children  or  a  common  work.  But 
it  is  well  known  that  this  is  not  all.  A  friend  is  one 
thing;  a  lover  another.  The  intimacy  involved  requires 
not  only  the  more  easily  described  and  superficial  attrac- 
tion of  mind  for  mind;  it  demands   also  a  deeper  con- 


PSYCHOLOGICAL  BASIS  OF  FAMILY      579 

geniality  of  the  whole  person,  incapable  of  precise  formu- 
lation, manifesting  itself  in  the  subtler  emotional  atti- 
tudes of  instinctive  reaction.  This  instinctive,  as  con- 
trasted with  the  more  reflective,  attraction  is  frequently 
described  as  one  of  opposites  or  contrasting  dispositions 
and  physical  characteristics.  But  this  is  nothing  that 
enters  into  the  feeling  as  a  consciious  factor.  The  only 
explanation  which  we  can  give  in  the  present  condition  of 
science  is  the  biological  one.  From  the  biological  point 
of  view  it  was  a  most  successful  venture  when  Nature,  by 
some  happy  variation,  developed  two  sexes  with  slightly 
different  characters  and  made  their  union  necessary  to 
the  continuance  of  life  in  certain  species.  By  uniting  in 
every  new  individual  the  qualities  of  two  parents,  the 
chances  of  variation  are  greatly  increased,  and  variation 
is  the  method  of  progress.  To  keep  the  same  variety  of 
fruit  the  horticulturist  buds  or  grafts ;  to  get  new  varie- 
ties he  plants  seed.  The  extraordinary  progress  com- 
bined with  continuity  of  type,  which  has  been  exhibited 
in  the  plant  and  animal  world,  has  been  effected,  in  part 
at  least,  through  the  agency  of  sex.  This  long  process 
has  developed  certain  principles  of  selection  which  are 
instinctive.  Whether  they  are  the  best  possible  or  not, 
they  represent  a  certain  adjustment  which  has  secured  such 
progress  as  has  been  attained,  and  such  adaptation  to 
environment  as  exists,  and  it  would  be  unwise,  if  it  were 
not  impossible,  to  disregard  them.  Marriages  of  con- 
venience are  certainly  questionable  from  the  biological 
standpoint. 

But  the  instinctive  basis  is  not  in  and  of  itself  suffi- 
cient to  guarantee  a  happy  family  life.  If  man  were 
living  wholly  a  life  of  instinct,  he  might  trust  instinct 
as  a  guide  in  establishing  his  family.  But  since  he  is 
living  an  intellectual  and  social  life  as  well,  intellectual 
and  social  factors  must  enter.  The  instinctive  basis  of 
selection  was  fixed  by  conditions  which  contemplated  only 


580  THE  FAMILY 

a  more  or  less  limited  period  of  attachment,  with  care  of 
the  young  for  a  few  years.  Modern  society  requires  the 
husband  and  wife  to  contemplate  life-long  companionship, 
and  a  care  for  children  which  implies  capacity  in  the 
father  to  provide  for  a  great  range  of  advantages,  and  in 
the  mother  to  be  intellectual  and  moral  guide  and  friend 
until  maturity.  To  trust  the  security  of  these  increased 
demands  to  instinct  is  to  invite  failure.  Instinct  must 
be  guided  by  reason  if  perfect  friendship  and  mu- 
tual supplementation  in  the  whole  range  of  interests  are 
to  be  added  to  the  intenser,  but  less  certain,  attraction. 

(2)  The  Common  Will. — But  whether  based  on  instinct 
or  intellectual  sympathy,  no  feeling  or  emotion  by  itself 
is  an  adequate  moral  basis  for  the  life  together  of  a  man 
and  a  woman.  What  was  said  on  p.  249,  as  to  the  moral 
worthlessness  of  any  mere  feeling  abstracted  from  will, 
applies  here.  Love  or  affection,  in  the  only  sense  in 
which  it  makes  a  moral  basis  of  the  family,  is  not  the 
"affection"  of  psychological  language — the  pleasant  or 
unpleasant  tone  of  consciousness ;  it  is  the  resolute  purpose 
in  each  to  seek  the  other's  good,  or  rather  to  seek  a 
common  good  which  can  be  attained  only  through  a  com- 
mon life  involving  mutual  self-sacrifice.  It  is  the  good 
will  of  Kant  specifically  directed  toward  creating  a  com- 
mon good.  It  is  the  formation  of  a  small  "kingdom  of 
ends"  in  which  each  treats  the  other  "as  end,"  never 
as  means  only;  in  which  each  is  "both  sovereign  and 
subject" ;  in  which  the  common  will,  thus  created,  enhances 
the  person  of  each  and  gives  it  higher  moral  dignity 
and  worth.  And,  as  in  the  case  of  all  purpose  which  has 
moral  value,  there  is  such  a  common  good  as  the  actual 
result.  The  disposition  and  character  of  both  husband 
and  wife  are  developed  and  supplemented.  The  male 
is  biologically  the  more  variable  and  motor.  He  has 
usually  greater  initiative  and  strength.  Economic  and 
industrial  life  accentuates  these  tendencies.     But   alone 


PSYCHOLOGICAL  BASIS  OF  FAMILY      581 

he  is  apt  to  become  rough  or  hard,  to  lack  the  feeHng 
in  which  the  charm  and  value  of  life  are  experienced.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  woman,  partly  by  instinct,  it  may  be, 
but  certainly  by  vocation,  is  largely  occupied  with  the 
variety  of  cares  on  which  human  health,  comfort,  and 
morality  depend.  She  tends  to  become  narrow,  unless  sup- 
plemented by  man.  The  value  of  emotion  and  feeling 
in  relation  to  this  process  of  mutual  aid  and  enlargement, 
as  in  general,  is,  as  Aristotle  pointed  out,  to  perfect  the 
will.  It  gives  warmth  and  vitality  to  what  would  other- 
wise be  in  any  case  partial  and  might  easily  become  insin- 
cere. There  was  a  profound  truth  which  underlay  the 
old  psychology  in  which  "the  heart"  meant  at  once  char- 
acter and  passion. 

(3)  The  Influence  of  Parenthood. — Nature  takes  one  step 
at  a  time.  If  all  the  possible  consequences  of  family  life 
had  to  be  definitely  forecasted,  valued,  and  chosen  at 
the  outset,  many  would  shrink.  But  this  would  be  be- 
cause there  is  as  yet  no  capacity  to  appreciate  new  values 
before  the  actual  experience  of  them.  "Every  promise  of 
the  soul  has  innumerable  fulfillments;  each  of  its  joys 
ripens  into  a  new  want."  Parental  affection  is  not  usually 
present  until  there  are  real  children  to  evoke  it.  At  the 
outset  the  mutual  love  of  husband  and  wife  is  enough. 
But  as  the  first,  more  instinctive  and  emotional  factors 
lose  relatively,  the  deeper  union  of  will  and  sympathy 
needs  community  of  interest  if  it  is  to  become  permanent 
and  complete.  Such  community  of  interest  is  often  found 
in  sharing  a  business  or  a  profession,  but  under  present 
industrial  organization  this  is  not  possible  as  a  general 
rule.  The  most  general  and  effective  object  of  common 
interest  is  the  children  of  the  family.  As  pointed  out  by 
John  Fiske,  the  mere  keeping  of  the  parents  together  by 
the  prolongation  of  infancy  in  the  human  species  has  had 
great  moral  influence.  Present  civilization  does  not  merely 
demand  that  the  parents   cooperate  eight   or  ten  years 


582  THE  FAMILY 

for  the  child's  physical  support.  There  has  been  a  sec- 
ond epoch  in  the  prolongation.  The  parents  now  must 
cooperate  until  the  children  are  through  school  and 
college,  and  in  business  or  homes  of  their  own.  And  the 
superiority  of  children  over  the  other  common  interests 
is  that  in  a  different  form  the  parents  repeat  the  process 
which  first  took  them  out  of  their  individual  lives  to  unite 
for  mutual  helpfulness.  If  the  parents  treat  the  chil- 
dren not  merely  as  sources  of  gratification  or  pride,  but 
as  persons,  with  lives  of  their  own  to  live,  with  capacities 
to  develop,  the  personality  of  the  parent  is  enlarged.  The 
affection  between  husband  and  wife  is  enriched  by  the 
new  relationship  it  has  created. 

(4)  Social  and  Religious  Factors. — The  relations  of 
husband  and  wife,  parent  and  child,  are  the  most  intimate 
of  personal  relations,  but  they  are  none  the  less  relations 
of  social  interest.  In  fact,  just  because  they  are  so  inti- 
mate, society  is  the  more  deeply  concerned.  Or,  to  put  it 
from  the  individual's  standpoint,  just  because  the  parties 
are  undertaking  a  profoundly  personal  step,  they  must 
take  it  as  members  of  a  moral  order.  The  act  of  estab- 
lishing the  family  signifies,  indeed,  the  entrance  into  fuller 
participation  in  the  social  life;  it  is  the  assuming  of  ties 
which  make  the  parties  in  a  new  and  deeper  sense  organic 
parts  of  humanity.  This  social  and  cosmic  meaning  is 
appropriately  symbolized  by  the  civil  and  religious  cere- 
mony. In  its  control  over  the  marriage  contract,  and  in 
its  prescriptions  as  to  the  care  and  education  of  the  chil- 
dren, society  continues  to  show  its  interest.  All  this  lends 
added  value  and  strength  to  the  emotional  and  intellectual 
bases. 

2.  Parent  and  Child. — The  other  relationships  in  the 
family,  those  of  parents  and  children,  brothers  and  sisters, 
need  no  elaborate  analysis.  The  love  of  parents  for  chil- 
dren, like  that  of  man  and  woman,  has  an  instinctive  basis. 
Those  species  which  have  cared  for  their  offspring  have 


PSYCHOLOGICAL  BASIS  OF  FAMILY      583 

had  a  great  advantage  in  the  struggle  for  existence. 
Nature  has  selected  them,  and  is  constantly  dropping  the 
strains  of  any  race  or  set  which  cares  more  for  power, 
or  wealth,  or  learning  than  for  children.  Tenderness, 
courage,  responsibility,  activity,  patience,  forethought, 
personal  virtue — these  are  constantly  evoked  not  by  the 
needs  of  children  in  general,  but  by  the  needs  of  our 
own  children.  The  instinctive  response,  however,  is  soon 
broadened  in  outlook  and  deepened  in  meaning.  Intel- 
lectual activity  is  stimulated  by  the  needs  of  provid- 
ing for  the  physical  welfare,  and,  still  more,  by  the 
necessity  of  planning  for  the  unfolding  mind.  The  inter- 
change of  question  and  answer  which  forces  the  parent 
to  think  his  whole  world  anew,  and  which  with  the  allied 
interchange  of  imitation  and  suggestion  produces  a  give 
and  take  between  all  members  of  the  family,  is  constantly 
making  for  fluidity  and  flexibility,  for  tolerance  and 
catholicity.  In  the  thoughtful  parent  these  educative 
influences  are  still  further  enriched  by  the  problem  of 
moral  training.  For  in  each  family,  as  in  the  race,  the 
need  of  eliciting  and  directing  right  conduct  in  the  young 
is  one  of  the  most  important  agencies  in  bringing  home 
to  the  elders  the  significance  of  custom  and  authority,  of 
right  and  wrong.  It  is  natural  enough,  from  one  stand- 
point, to  think  of  childhood  as  an  imperfect  state,  looking 
forward  for  its  completeness  and  getting  its  value  be- 
cause of  its  rich  promise.  But  the  biologist  tells  us  that 
the  child  is  nearer  the  line  of  progress  than  the  more 
developed,  but  also  more  rigidly  set,  man.  And  the  lover 
of  children  is  confident  that  if  any  age  of  humanity 
exists  by  its  own  right,  and  "pays  as  it  goes,"  it  is  child- 
hood. It  is  not  only  meet,  but  a  joy,  that  the  fathers 
labor  for  the  children.  Many,  if  not  most,  of  the  objects 
for  which  men  and  women  strive  and  drudge  seem  less  satis- 
factory when  obtained;  because  we  have  meanwhile  out- 
grown the  desire.     Children  aff^ord  an  object  of  affection 


584  THE  FAMILY 

which  is  constantly  unfolding  new  powers,  and  opening 
new  reaches  of  personality.^  Conversely,  an  authority 
which  is  also  tender,  patient,  sympathetic,  is  the  best 
medium  to  develop  in  the  child  self-control.  The  neces- 
sity of  mutual  forbearance  where  there  g^re  several  chil- 
dren, of  sharing  fairly,  of  learning  to  give  and  take, 
is  the  best  possible  method  of  training  for  membership 
in  the  larger  society.  In  fact,  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  social  organism  as  a  whole,  the  family  has  two 
functions;  as  a  smaller  group,  it  affords  an  oppor- 
tunity for  eliciting  the  qualities  of  affection  and  char- 
acter which  cannot  be  displayed  at  all  in  the  larger 
group;  and,  in  the  second  place,  it  is  a  training  for 
future  members  of  the  larger  group  in  those  qualities 
of  disposition  and  character  which  are  essential  to 
citizenship.^ 


go.    GENERAL   ELEMENTS   OF    STRAIN    IN    FAMILY   RELATIONS 

Difference  in  Temperament. — ^While  there  are  intrinsic 
qualities  of  men  and  women  that  bring  them  together  for 
family  life,  and,  while  there  is  in  most  cases  a  strong 
reenf  or  cement  afforded  by  the  presence  of  children,  there 
are  certain  characteristics  which  tend  just  as  inevitably 
to  produce  tension,  and  those  forces  of  tension  are 
strengthened  at  the  present  time  by  certain  economic,  edu- 
cational, and  cultural  conditions.  The  differences  be- 
tween men  and  women  may  be  at  the  basis  of  their  in- 
stinctive attraction  for  each  other;  they  certainly  have 

*  Helen  Bosanquet,  The  Family,  p.  313 :  "  'They  must  hinder  your 
work  very  much,'  I  said  to  a  mother  busy  about  the  kitchen,  with 
a  two-year-old  clinging  to  her  skirt.  'I'd  never  get  through  my  work 
without  them,'  was  the  instant  rejoinder,  and  in  it  lay  the  answer  to 
much  of  our  sentimental  commiseration  of  hard-worked  mothers.  It 
may  be  hard  to  carry  on  the  drudgery  of  daily  life  with  the  little 
ones  clamoring  around;  it  is  ten  times  harder  without,  for  sheer 
lack  of  something  to  make  it  worth  while," 

"  Bosanquet,  Part  II.,  ch.  x, 


STRAIN  IN  FAMILY  RELATIONS  585 

possibilities  of  friction  as  well.  A  fundamental  difference 
already  noted  is  that  the  male  is  more  variable,  the  female 
more  true  to  the  type.  Biologically  at  least,  the  varium  et 
mutahile  is  applied  by  the  poet  to  the  wrong  sex.  Applied 
to  the  mind  and  disposition,  this  means  probably  not 
only  a  greater  variation  of  capacity  and  temper  as 
a  whole, — more  geniuses  and  also  more  at  the  other  ex- 
treme than  among  women, — but  also  a  greater  average 
mobility. 

Differences  Accentuated  by  Occupation From  the 

early  occupations  of  hunting  and  fishing,  to  the  modern 
greater  range  of  occupations,  any  native  mobility  in  man 
has  found  stimulation  and  scope,  as  compared  with  the 
energies  of  women  which  have  less  distinct  differentiation 
and  a  more  limited  contact  with  the  work  of  others.  And 
there  is  another  industrial  difference  closely  connected 
with  this,  which  has  been  pointed  out  by  Ellis,^  and 
Thomas.^  Primitive  man  hunted  and  fought.  Much  of 
primit^*^^'^  ^'^dustry,  the  prototype,  so  far  as  it  existed,  of 
the  industrial  activity  of  the  modern  world,  was  carried  on 
by  woman.  Industrial  progress  has  been  signalized  by  the 
splitting  off  of  one  phase  of  woman's  work  after  another, 
and  by  the  organization  and  expansion  of  this  at  the 
hands  of  man.  Man's  work  has  thus  become  more  spe- 
cialized and  scientific ;  woman's  has  remained  more  de- 
tailed, complex,  and  diffused.  Her  work  in  the  family 
of  ordering  the  household,  caring  for  the  children,  secur- 
ing the  health  and  comfort  of  all  its  members,  neces- 
sarily involves  personal  adjustment;  hence  it  resists  sys- 
tem. As  a  result  of  the  differentiation  man  has  gained 
in  greater  and  greater  degree  a  scientific  and  objective 
standard  for  his  work ;  woman  neither  has  nor  can  have — 
at  least  in  the  sphere  of  personal  relations — the  advantage 
of  a  standard.     Business  has  its  ratings  in  the  quantity 

*  Man  and  Woman. 
'  (Sea;  and  Society, 


586  THE  FAMILY 

of  sales  or  the  ratio  of  net  profits.  The  professions  and 
skilled  trades  have  their  own  tests  of  achievement.  A 
scientist  makes  his  discovery,  a  lawyer  wins  his  case,  an 
architect  builds  his  bridge,  the  mechanic  his  machine;  he 
knows  whether  he  has  done  a  good  piece  of  work,  and 
respects  himself  accordingly.  He  can  appeal  from  the 
man  next  to  him  to  the  judgment  of  his  profession.  Con- 
versely, the  standard  of  the  trade  or  profession  helps  to 
lift  the  individual's  work.  It  is  a  constant  stimulus,  as 
well  as  support.  A  woman's  work  in  the  family  has  no 
such  professional  stimulus,  or  professional  vindication. 
If  the  family  is  lenient,  the  work  is  not  held  up  to  a  high 
level.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must  make  its  appeal  to 
the  persons  immediately  concerned,  and  if  they  do  not 
respond,  the  woman  feels  that  she  has  failed  to  do  some- 
thing really  worth  while.  If  her  work  is  not  valued, 
she  feels  that  it  is  not  valuable.  For  there  is  no  demon- 
strative proof  of  a  successful  home  any  more  than  there 
is  of  a  good  work  of  art.  It  is  easy  enough  to  point 
out  reasons  why  the  picture  or  the  home  should  please  and 
satisfy,  but  if  the  work  itself  is  not  convincing,  no 
demonstration  that  similar  works  have  satisfied  is  of  any 
avail. 

The  way  in  which  men  and  women  come  into  contact 
with  others  is  another  element  in  the  case.  Man  comes 
into  contact  with  others  for  the  most  part  in  an  abstract 
way.  He  deals  not  with  men,  women,  and  children,  but 
with  employers  or  employed,  with  customers  or  clients,  or 
patients.  He  doesn't  have  to  stand  them  in  all  their 
varied  phases,  or  enter  into  those  intimate  relations  which 
involve  strain  of  adjustment  in  its  fullest  extent.  More- 
over, business  or  professional  manner  and  etiquette  come 
in  to  relieve  the  necessity  of  personal  effort.  The  "pro- 
fessional manner"  serves  the  same  function  in  dealing 
with  others,  which  habit  plays  in  the  individual  life ;  it 
takes  the  place  of  continual  readjustment  of  attention. 


STRAIN  IN  FAMILY  RELATIONS  587 

When  a  man  is  forced  to  lay  this  aside  and  deal  in  any 
serious  situation  as  "a  human  being,"  he  feels  a  far 
greater  strain.  The  woman's  task  is  less  in  extension, 
but  great  in  intension.  It  obliges  her  to  deal  with  the 
children,  at  any  rate,  as  wholes,  and  a  "whole"  child 
is  a  good  deal  of  a  strain.  If  she  does  not  see  the  whole 
of  the  husband,  it  is  quite  likely  that  the  part  not  brought 
home — the  professional  or  business  part  of  him — is  the 
most  alert,  intelligent,  and  interesting  phase.  The  con- 
stant close-at-hand  personal  relations,  unrelieved  by  the 
abstract  impersonal  attitude  and  the  generalizing  ac- 
tivity which  it  invites,  constitute  an  element  of  strain 
which  few  men  understand,  and  which  probably  few 
could  endure  and  possess  their  souls.  The  present  divi- 
sion of  labor  seems,  therefore,  to  make  the  man  excess- 
ively abstract,  the  woman  excessively  personal,  instead 
of  supplementing  to  some  extent  the  weak  side  of 
each. 

Difference  in  Attitude  toward  the  Family.  —  As  if 
these  differences  in  attitude  based  on  disposition  and  occu- 
pation were  not  enough,  we  have  a  thoroughgoing  differ- 
ence in  the  attitude  of  men  and  women  toward  the  very 
institution  which  invites  them.  The  man  is  ready  enough 
to  assent  to  the  importance  of  the  family  for  the  race, 
but  his  family  means  not  an  interference  with  other  ambi- 
tions, but  usually  an  aid  to  their  fulfillment.  His  family 
is  one  interest  among  several,  and  is  very  likely  subor- 
dinate in  his  thought  to  his  profession  or  his  business. 
In  early  ages  to  rove  or  conquer,  in  modern  life  to  master 
nature  and  control  her  resources  or  his  f  ellowmen — this  has 
been  the  insistent  instinct  which  urges  even  the  long-tossed 
Ulysses  from  Ithaca  and  from  Penelope  again  upon  the 
deep.  Woman,  on  the  other  hand,  if  she  enters  a  family, 
usually  abandons  any  other  ambition  and  forgets  any 
acquired  art  or  skill  of  her  previous  occupation.  To  be 
the  mistress  of  a  home  may  be  precisely  what  she  would 


588  THE  FAMILY 

choose  as  a  vocation.  But  there  is  usually  no  alternative 
if  she  is  to  have  a  home  at  all.  It  is  not  a  question  of  a 
family  in  addition  to  a  vocation,  but  of  a  family  as  a 
vocation.  Hence  woman  must  regard  family  life  not 
merely  as  a  good;  it  must  be  the  good,  and  usually  the 
exclusive  good. 

If,  then,  a  woman  has  accepted  the  family  as  the 
supreme  good,  it  is  naturally  hard  to  be  in  perfect  sym- 
pathy with  the  man's  standard  of  family  life  as  sec- 
ondary. Of  course  a  completer  vision  may  find  that  a 
division  of  labor,  a  difference  of  function,  may  carry  with 
it  a  difference  in  standards  of  value;  the  mastery  of 
nature  and  the  maintenance  of  the  family  may  be  neither 
an  absolute  good  in  itself,  but  each  a  necessity  to  life 
and  progress.  But  neither  man  nor  woman  is  always 
equal  to  this  view,  and  to  the  full  sympathy  for  the  rela- 
tive value  of  the  other's  standpoint.  Where  it  cuts  closest 
is  in  the  attitude  toward  breach  of  faith  in  the  family 
tie.  Men  have  severe  codes  for  the  man  who  cheats  at 
cards  or  forges  a  signature,  but  treat  much  more 
leniently,  or  entirely  ignore,  the  gravest  offenses  against 
the  family.  These  latter  do  not  seem  to  form  a  barrier 
to  political,  business,  or  social  success  (among  men). 
Women  have  a  severe  standard  for  family  sanctity,  espe- 
cially for  their  own  sex.  But  it  would  probably  be  diffi- 
cult to  convince  most  women  that  it  is  a  more  heinous 
offense  to  secrete  a  card,  or  even  with  Nora  in  The  DolVs 
House,  to  forge  a  name,  than  to  be  unfaithful.  It  is 
not  meant  that  the  average  man  or  woman  approves 
either  form  of  wrongdoing,  but  that  there  is  a  difference 
of  emphasis  evidenced  in  the  public  attitude.  In  view  of 
all  these  differences  in  nature,  occupation,  and  social 
standard  it  may  be  said  that  however  well  husband  and 
wife  may  love  each  other,  few  understand  each  other 
completely.  Perhaps  most  men  do  not  understand  women 
at  all.     Corresponding  to  the  "psychologist's  fallacy," 


STRAIN  IN  FAMILY  RELATIONS  589 

whose  evils  have  been  depicted  by  James,  there  is  a  "mas- 
culine fallacy"  and  a  "feminine  fallacy." 

Difference  in  Age.  —  The  difference  in  age  between 
parents  and  children  brings  certain  inevitable  hindrances 
to  complete  understanding.  The  most  thoroughgoing 
is  that  parent  and  children  really  stand  concretely  for 
the  two  factors  of  continuity  and  individual  variation 
which  confront  each  other  in  so  many  forms.  The  parent 
has  found  his  place  in  the  social  system,  and  is  both 
steadied  and  to  some  extent  made  rigid  by  the  social  tradi- 
tion. The  child,  though  to  some  extent  imitating  and 
adopting  this  tradition,  has  as  yet  little  reasoned  adher- 
ence to  it.  The  impulses  and  expanding  life  do  not  find 
full  expression  in  the  set  ways  already  open,  and  occa- 
sionally break  out  new  channels.  The  conservatism  of 
the  parent  may  be  a  wiser  and  more  social,  or  merely 
a  more  hardened  and  narrow,  mode  of  conduct;  some  of 
the  child's  variations  may  be  irrational  and  pernicious 
to  himself  and  society;  others  may  promise  a  larger  rea- 
sonableness, a  more  generous  social  order — ^but  meanwhile 
certain  features  of  the  conflict  between  reason  and  im- 
pulse, order  and  change,  are  constantly  appearing.  Dif- 
ferences in  valuation  are  also  inevitable  and  can  be  bridged 
only  by  an  intelligent  sympathy.  It  is  easy  to  consider 
this  or  that  to  be  of  slight  importance  to  the  child  when 
it  is  really  his  whole  world  for  the  time.  Even  if  he  does 
"get  over  it,"  the  effect  on  the  disposition  may  remain, 
and  affect  the  temper  or  emotional  life,  even  though  not 
consciously  remembered.  Probably,  also,  most  parents  do 
not  realize  how  early  a  crude  but  sometimes  even  passion- 
ate sense  for  "fairness"  develops,  or  how  different  the 
relative  setting  of  an  act  appears  if  judged  from  the 
motives  actually  operative  with  the  child,  and  not  from 
those  which  might  produce  such  an  act  in  a  "grown-up." 
Most  parents  and  children  love  each  other;  few  reach  a 
complete  understanding. 


590  THE  FAMILY 

§  4.    SPECIAL   CONDITIONS   WHICH   GIVE   RISE   TO   PRESENT 
PROBLEMS 

In  addition  to  the  more  general  conditions  of  family 
life,  there  are  certain  conditions  at  present  operative 
which  give  rise  to  special  problems,  or  rather  emphasize 
certain  aspects  of  the  permanent  problems.  The  family 
is  quite  analogous  to  political  society.  There  needs  to 
be  constant  readjustment  between  order  and  progress, 
between  the  control  of  the  society  and  the  freedom  of  the 
individual.  The  earlier  bonds  of  custom  or  force  have 
to  be  exchanged  in  point  after  point  for  a  more  voluntary 
and  moral  order.  In  the  words  of  Kant,  heteronomy  must 
steadily  give  place  to  autonomy,  subordination  of  rank 
or  status  to  division  of  labor  with  equality  in  dignity. 
The  elements  of  strain  in  the  family  life  at  present  may 
fairly  be  expected  to  give  rise  ultimately  to  a  better 
constitution  of  its  relations.  The  special  conditions  are 
partly  economic,  partly  educational  and  political,  but  the 
general  process  is  a  part  of  the  larger  growth  of  modern 
civilization  with  the  increasing  development  of  individ- 
uality and  desire  for  freedom.  It  is  sometimes  treated  as 
if  it  affected  only  the  woman  or  the  children;  in  reality 
it  affects  the  man  as  well,  though  in  less  degree,  as  his  was 
not  the  subordinate  position. 

The  Economic  Factors. — The  "industrial  revolution" 
tranferred  production  from  home  to  factory.  The  house- 
hold is  no  longer  as  a  rule  an  industrial  unit.  Spinning, 
weaving,  tailoring,  shoemaking,  soap-making,  iron-  and 
wood-working,  and  other  trades  have  gone  to  factories. 
Men,  young  unmarried  women,  and  to  some  extent  mar- 
ried women  also,  have  gone  with  them.  Children  have  lost 
association  with  one  parent,  and  in  some  cases  with  both. 
The  concentration  of  industry  and  business  leads  to  cities. 
Under  present  means  of  transportation  this  means  apart- 
ments  instead   of   houses,   it   means   less    freedom,    more 


CAUSES  OF  PRESENT  PROBLEMS   591 

strain,  for  both  mother  and  children,  and  possible  dete- 
riorating effects  upon  the  race  which  as  yet  are  quite 
outside  any  calculation.  But  leaving  this  uncertain  field 
of  effects  upon  child  life,  we  notice  certain  potent  effects 
upon  men  and  women. 

It  might  be  a  difficult  question  to  decide  the  exact  gains 
and  losses  for  family  life  due  to  the  absence  of  the  man 
from  home  during  the  day.  On  the  one  hand,  too  con- 
stant association  is  a  source  of  friction;  on  the  other, 
there  is  likely  to  result  some  loss  of  sympathy,  and  where 
the  working-day  is  long,  an  almost  absolute  loss  of  contact 
with  children.  If  children  are  the  great  natural  agencies 
for  cultivating  tenderness  and  affection,  it  is  certainly  un- 
fortunate that  fathers  should  be  deprived  of  this  educa- 
tion. The  effect  of  the  industrial  revolution  upon  women 
has  been  widely  noted.  First  of  all,  the  opening  of  an 
increasing  number  of  occupations  to  women  has  rendered 
them  economically  more  independent.  They  are  not  forced 
to  the  alternative  of  marriage  or  dependence  upon  rela- 
tives. If  already  married,  even  although  they  may  have 
lost  touch  to  some  extent  with  their  former  occupation, 
they  do  not  feel  the  same  compulsion  to  endure  intolerable 
conditions  in  the  home  rather  than  again  attempt  self- 
support.  An  incidental  effect  of  the  entrance  of  women 
upon  organized  occupations,  with  definite  hours  and  im- 
personal standards,  is  to  bring  out  more  strongly  by  con- 
trast the  "belated"  condition  of  domestic  work.  It  is 
difficult  to  obtain  skilled  workers  for  an  occupation  re- 
quiring nearly  double  the  standard  number  of  hours,  iso- 
lation instead  of  companionship  during  work,  close 
personal  contact  with  an  employer,  a  measure  of  control 
over  conduct  outside  of  the  hours  on  duty,  and  finally 
the  social  inferiority  implied  by  an  occupation  which  has 
in  it  survivals  of  the  status  of  the  old-time  servant.  In- 
deed, the  mistress  of  the  house,  if  she  "does  her  own  work," 
doesn't  altogether  like  her  situation.     There  is  now  no 


592  THE  FAMILY 

one  general  occupation  which  all  men  are  expected  to 
master  irrespective  of  native  tastes  and  abilities.  If  every 
male  were  obliged  to  make  not  only  his  own  clothing, 
including  head-  and  foot-wear,  but  that  of  his  whole 
family,  unassisted,  or  with  practically  unskilled  labor, 
there  would  probably  be  as  much  misfit  clothing  as  there 
is  now  unsatisfactory  home-making,  and  possibly  there 
would  be  an  increase  of  irritability  and  "nervousness"  on 
the  one  side  and  of  criticism  or  desertion  on  the  other,  which 
would  increase  the  present  strain  upon  the  divorce  courts. 
To  an  increasing  number  of  women,  the  position  of  being 
"jack-at-all-trades  and  master-of-none"  is  irritating. 
The  conviction  that  there  is  a  great  waste  of  effort  with- 
out satisfactory  results  is  more  wearing  than  the  actual 
doing  of  the  work. 

For  the  minority  of  women  who  do  not  "keep  house,"  or 
who  can  be  relieved  entirely  of  domestic  work  by  experts, 
the  industrial  revolution  has  a  different  series  of  possi- 
bilities. If  there  is  a  decided  talent  which  has  received 
adequate  cultivation,  there  may  be  an  opportunity  for 
its  exercise  without  serious  interference  with  family  life, 
but  the  chances  are  against  it.  If  the  woman  cannot  leave 
her  home  for  the  entire  day,  or  if  her  husband  regards  a 
gainful  occupation  on  her  part  as  a  reflection  upon  his 
ability  to  "support  the  family,"  she  is  practically  shut 
out  from  any  occupation.  If  she  has  children  and  has 
an  intelligent  as  well  as  an  emotional  interest  in  their 
welfare,  there  is  an  unlimited  field  for  scientific  develop- 
ment. But  if  she  has  no  regular  useful  occupation,  she 
is  not  leading  a  normal  life.  Her  husband  very  likely 
cannot  understand  why  she  should  not,  in  the  words  of 
Veblen,  perform  "vicarious  leisure"  for  him,  and  be  satis- 
fied therewith.  If  she  is  satisfied,  so  much  the  worse. 
Whether  she  is  satisfied  or  not,  she  is  certainly  not  likely 
to  grow  mentally  or  morally  in  such  an  existence,  and  the 
family  life  will  not  be  helped  by  stagnation  or  frivolity. 


CAUSES  OF  PRESENT  PROBLEMS    593 

In  certain  classes  of  society  there  is  one  economic  fea- 
ture which  is  probably  responsible  for  many  petty  annoy- 
ances and  in  some  cases  for  real  degradation  of  spirit. 
When  the  family  was  an  industrial  unit,  when  ex- 
change was  largely  in  barter,  it  was  natural  to  think  of 
the  woman  as  a  joint  agent  in  production.  When  the 
production  moved  to  factories  and  the  wage  or  the  wealth 
was  paid  to  the  man  and  could  be  kept  in  his  pocket  or 
his  check-book,  it  became  easy  for  him  to  think  of  him- 
self as  "supporting"  the  family,  to  permit  himself  to  be 
"asked"  for  money  for  household  expenses  or  even  for 
the  wife's  personal  expenses,  and  to  consider  money  used 
in  these  ways  as  "gifts"  to  his  wife  or  children.  Women 
have  more  or  less  resistingly  acquiesced  in  this  humiliat- 
ing conception,  which  is  fatal  to  a  real  moral  relation 
as  well  as  to  happiness.  It  is  as  absurd  a  conception  as 
it  would  be  to  consider  the  receiving  teller  in  a  bank  as 
supporting  the  bank,  or  the  manager  of  a  factory  as 
supporting  all  the  workmen.  The  end  of  the  family  is 
not  economic  profit,  but  mutual  aid,  and  the  continuance 
and  progress  of  the  race.  A  division  of  labor  does  not 
give  superiority  and  inferiority.  When  one  considers 
which  party  incurs  the  greater  risks,  and  which  works 
with  greater  singleness  and  sincerity  for  the  family,  it 
must  pass  as  one  of  the  extraordinary  superstitions  that 
the  theory  of  economic  dependence  should  have  gained 
vogue. 

Cultural  and  Political  Factors. — Educational,  cultural, 
and  political  movements  reenforce  the  growing  sense 
of  individuality.  Educational  and  cultural  advance 
strengthens  the  demand  that  woman's  life  shall  have  as 
serious  a  purpose  as  man's,  and  that  in  carrying  on  her 
work,  whether  in  the  family  or  without,  she  may  have 
some  share  in  the  grasp  of  mind,  the  discipline  of  char- 
acter, and  the  freedom  of  spirit  which  come  from  the 
scientific  spirit,  and  from  the  intelligent,  efficient  organ- 


594  THE  FAMILY 

izatibn  of  work  by  scientific  methods.  Political  democ- 
racy draws  increasing  attention  to  personal  dignity,  irre- 
spective of  rank  or  wealth.  Increasing  legal  rights  have 
been  granted  to  women  until  in  most  points  they  are  now 
equal  before  the  law,  although  the  important  exception 
of  suffrage  still  remains  for  the  most  part.  Under  these 
conditions  it  is  increasingly  difficult  to  maintain  a  family 
union  on  any  other  basis  than  that  of  equal  freedom, 
equal  responsibilities,  equal  dignity  and  authority.  It  will 
probably  be  found  that  most  of  the  tension  now  especially 
felt  in  family  life — aside  from  those  cases  of  maladapta- 
tion  liable  to  occur  under  any  system — results  either  from 
lack  of  recognition  of  this  equality,  or  from  the  more 
general  economic  conditions  which  society  as  a  whole, 
rather  than  any  particular  family,  must  meet  and  change. 

§  5.  UNSETTLED  PROBLEMS  .*  ( 1 )  ECONOMIC 

The  family  as  an  economic  unit  includes  the  relation 
of  its  members  to  society  both  as  producers  and  as 
consumers. 

The  Family  and  Production. — We  have  noted  the  in- 
dustrial changes  which  have  seemed  to  draw  the  issue 
sharply  between  the  home  and  outside  occupations.  We 
have  seen  that  the  present  organization  of  industry,  busi- 
ness, and  the  professions  has  separated  most  of  the  occu- 
pations from  the  family,  so  that  woman  must  choose 
between  family  and  a  specific  occupation,  but  cannot 
ordinarily  combine  the  two.  We  have  said  that  in  requir- 
ing all  its  women  to  do  the  same  thing  the  family  seems 
to  exclude  them  from  individual  pursuits  adapted  to  their 
talents,  and  to  exclude  them  likewise  from  the  whole  scien- 
tific and  technical  proficiency  of  modern  life.  Is  this  an 
inevitable  dilemma?  Those  who  think  it  is  divide  into 
two  parties,  which  accept  respectively  the  opposite  horns. 
The  one  party  infers  that  the  social  division  of  labor  must 


UNSETTLED  PROBLEMS  595 

be:  man  to  carry  on  all  occupations  outside  the  family, 
woman  to  work  always  within  the  family.  The  other 
party  infers  that  the  family  life  must  give  way  to  the 
industrial  tendency. 

(1)  The  "domestic  theory,"  or  as  Mrs.  Bosanquet 
styles  it,  the  "pseudo-domestic"  theory,  is  held  sincerely 
by  many  earnest  friends  of  the  family  in  both  sexes. 
They  feel  strongly  the  fundamental  necessity  of  family 
life.  They  believe  further  that  they  are  not  seeking 
to  subordinate  woman  to  the  necessities  of  the  race,  but 
rather  to  give  her  a  unique  position  of  dignity  and  affec- 
tion. In  outside  occupations  she  must  usually  be  at  a 
disadvantage  in  competition  with  men,  because  of  her 
physical  constitution  which  Nature  has  specialized  for  a 
different  function.  In  the  family  she  "reigns  supreme." 
With  most  women  life  is  not  satisfied,  experience  is  not 
full,  complete  consciousness  of  sex  and  individuality  is 
not  attained,  until  they  have  dared  to  enter  upon  the 
full  family  relations.  Let  these  be  preserved  not  merely 
for  the  race,  but  especially  for  woman's  own  sake. 
Further,  it  is  urged,  when  woman  enters  competitive 
occupations  outside  the  home,  she  lowers  the  scale  of  wages. 
This  makes  it  harder  for  men  to  support  families,  and 
therefore  more  reluctant  to  establish  them.  Riehl  urges 
that  not  only  should  married  women  remain  at  home;  un- 
married women  should  play  the  part  of  "aunt"  in  some 
one's  household — he  says  alte  Tante,  but  it  is  not  necessary 
to  load  the  theory  too  heavily  with  the  adjective. 

( 2 )  The  other  horn  of  the  dilemma  is  accepted  by  many 
writers,  especially  among  socialists.  These  writers  assume 
that  the  family  necessarily  involves  not  only  an  exclu- 
sively domestic  life  for  all  women,  but  also  their  economic 
dependence.  They  believe  this  dependence  to  be  not  merely 
a  survival  of  barbarism,  but  an  actual  immorality  in  its 
exchange  of  sex  attraction  for  economic  support.  Hence 
they  would  abandon  the  family  or  greatly  modify  it.     It 


596  THE  FAMILY 

must  no  longer  be  "coercive";  it  will  be  coercive  under 
present  conditions. 

Fallacies  in  the  Dilemma. — Each  of  these  positions 
involves  a  fallacy  which  releases  us  from  the  necessity  of 
choosing  between  them.  The  root  of  the  fallacy  in  each 
case  is  the  conception  that  the  economic  status  determines 
the  moral  end,  whereas  the  moral  end  ought  to  determine 
the  economic  status. 

The  fallacy  of  the  pseudo-domestic  theory  lies  in  sup- 
posing that  the  home  must  continue  its  old  economic 
form  or  be  destroyed.  What  is  essential  to  the  family  is 
that  man  and  wife,  parents  and  children,  should  live  in 
such  close  and  intimate  relation  that  they  may  be  mutually 
helpful.  But  it  is  not  essential  that  present  methods  of 
house  construction,  domestic  service,  and  the  whole  indus- 
trial side  of  home  life  be  maintained  immutable.  There  is 
one  fundamental  division  of  labor  between  men  and 
women.  The  woman  who  takes  marriage  at  its  full  scope 
accepts  this.  "The  lines  which  it  follows  are  drawn  not 
so  much  by  the  woman's  inability  to  work  for  her  family 
in  the  outside  world — she  constantly  does  so  when  the 
death  or  illness  of  her  husband  throws  the  double  burden 
upon  her;  but  from  the  obvious  fact  that  the  man  is 
incapable  of  the  more  domestic  duties  incident  upon  the 
rearing  of  children."  ^  But  this  does  not  involve  the  total 
life  of  a  woman,  nor  does  it  imply  that  to  be  a  good  wife 
and  mother  every  woman  must  under  all  possible  advances 
of  industry  continue  to  be  cook,  seamstress,  housemaid, 
and  the  rest.  True  it  is  that  if  a  woman  steps  out  of  her 
profession  or  trade  for  five,  ten,  twenty  years,  it  is  in 
many  cases  difficult  to  reenter.  But  there  are  some  occu- 
pations where  total  absence  is  not  necessary.  There  are 
others  where  her  added  experience  ought  to  be  an  asset 
instead  of  a  handicap.  A  mother  who  had  been  well 
trained  ought  to  be  a  far  more  effective  teacher  in  her 
wholesome  and  intelligent  influence.  She  ought  to  be  a 
*  Helen  Bosanquet,  The  Family,  p.  272. 


UNSETTLED  PROBLEMS  597 

more  efficient  manager  or  worker  in  the  great  variety  of 
civic  and  social  enterprises  of  both  paid  and  unpaid  char- 
acter. There  is  no  doubt  that  the  present  educational 
and  social  order  is  suffering  because  deprived  of  the  com- 
petent service  which  many  married  women  might  render, 
just  as  women  in  their  turn  are  suffering  for  want  of  con- 
genial occupation,  suited  to  their  capacities  and  individual 
tastes.  A  growing  freedom  in  economic  pursuit  would 
improve  the  home,  not  injure  it.  For  nothing  that  inter- 
feres with  normal  development  is  likely  to  prove  beneficial 
to  the  family's  highest  interest. 

The  fallacy  of  those  who  would  abolish  the  family  to 
emancipate  woman  from  economic  dependence  is  in  sup- 
posing that  because  the  woman  is  not  engaged  in  a  gain- 
ful occupation  she  is  therefore  being  supported  by  the 
man  for  his  own  pleasure.  This  is  to  adopt  the  absurd 
assumptions  of  the  very  condition  they  denounce.  This 
theory  at  most,  applies  to  a  marriage  which  is  conceived 
from  an  entirely  selfish  and  commercial  point  of  view.  If 
a  man  marries  for  his  own  pleasure  and  is  willing  to  pay 
a  cash  price ;  if  a  woman  marries  for  cash  or  support  and 
is  willing  to  pay  the  price,  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  the 
proper  term  for  such  a  transaction.  The  result  is  not  a 
family  in  the  moral  sense,  and  no  ceremonies  or  legal  forms 
can  make  it  moral.  A  family  in  the  moral  sense  exists  for 
a  common  good,  not  for  selfish  use  of  others.  To  secure 
this  common  good  each  member  contributes  a  part.  If 
both  husband  and  wife  carry  on  gainful  occupations,  well ; 
if  one  is  occupied  outside  the  home  and  the  other  within, 
well  also.  If  there  are  children,  the  woman  is  likely  to  have 
the  far  more  difficult  and  wearing  half  of  the  common 
labor.  Which  plan  is  followed,  i.e.,  whether  the  woman 
works  outside  or  within  the  home,  ought  to  depend  on  which 
plan  is  better  on  the  whole  for  all  concerned,  and  this  will 
depend  largely  on  the  woman's  own  ability  and  tastes,  and 
upon  the  number  and  age  of  the  children.     But  the  eco- 


598  THE  FAMILY 

nomic  relation  is  not  the  essential  thing.  The  essential 
thing  is  that  the  economic  be  held  entirely  subordinate  to 
the  moral  conception,  before  marriage  and  after. 

The  Family  as  Consumer. — The  relation  of  the  family 
as  consumer  to  society  and  to  the  economic  process  at 
large  involves  also  an  important  moral  problem.  For 
while  production  has  been  taken  from  the  home,  the  select- 
ive influence  of  the  family  over  production  through  its 
direction  of  consumption  has  proportionally  increased. 
And  in  this  field  the  woman  of  the  family  is  and  should  be 
the  controlling  factor.  As  yet  only  the  internal  aspects 
have  been  considered.  Most  women  regard  it  as  their  duty 
to  buy  economically,  to  secure  healthful  food,  and  make 
their  funds  go  as  far  as  possible.  But  the  moral  respon- 
sibility does  not  stop  here.  The  consumer  may  have  an 
influence  in  helping  to  secure  better  conditions  of  produc- 
tion, such  as  sanitary  workshops,  reasonable  hours,  decent 
wages,  by  a  "white  label."  But  this  is  chiefly  valuable 
in  forming  public  opinion  to  demand  workrooms  free  from 
disease  and  legal  abolition  of  sweatshops  and  child  labor. 
The  greater  field  for  the  consumers'  control  is  in  deter- 
mining the  kind  of  goods  that  shall  be  produced.  What 
foods  shall  be  produced,  what  books  written,  what  plays 
presented,  what  clothing  made,  what  houses  and  what  fur- 
nishing shall  be  provided — all  this  may  be  largely  deter- 
mined by  the  consumers.  And  the  value  of  simplicity,  util- 
ity, and  genuineness,  is  not  limited  to  the  eff^ects  upon  the 
family  which  consumes.  The  workman  who  makes  fraud- 
ulent goods  can  hardly  help  being  injured.  The  economic 
waste  involved  in  the  production  of  what  satisfies  no  per- 
manent or  real  want  is  a  serious  indictment  of  our  present 
civilization.  It  was  said,  under  the  subject  of  the  economic 
process,  that  it  was  an  ethically  desirable  end  to  have  in- 
crease of  goods,  and  of  the  kind  wanted.  We  may  now 
add  a  third  end:  it  is  important  that  society  should  learn 
to  want  the  kinds  of  goods  which  give  happiness  and  not 


UNSETTLED  PROBLEMS  599 

merely  crude  gratification.  Men  often  need  most  what 
they  want  least.  Not  only  the  happiness  of  life  but  its 
progress,  its  unfolding  of  new  capacities  and  interests,  is 
determined  largely  by  the  direction  of  the  consumption. 
Woman  is  here  the  influential  factor. 

If  there  were  no  other  reason  for  the  better  and  wider 
education  of  woman  than  the  desirability  of  more  intelli- 
gent consumption,  society  would  have  ample  ground  to 
demand  it. 

§6.    UNSETTLED    PROBLEMS:    (2)    POLITICAL 

The  family  may  be  regarded  as  a  political  unit,  first 
in  its  implication  of  some  control  of  the  members  by  the 
common  end,  and  in  the  second  place  in  its  relation  to  the 
authority  of  the  State. 

I.  Authority  within  the  Family. — If  the  poHtical  char- 
acter of  the  family  were  kept  clearly  in  mind,  the  internal 
relations  of  the  members  of  the  family  would  be  on  a  far 
more  moral  basis  and  there  would  be  less  reason  for  fric- 
tion or  personal  clashes.  If  there  is  a  group  of  persons 
which  is  to  act  as  a  unity,  there  must  be  some  leadership 
and  control.  In  many  cases  there  will  be  a  common  con- 
viction as  to  the  fittest  person  to  lead  or  direct,  but  where 
the  group  is  a  permanent  one  with  frequent  occasions  for 
divergent  interests,  unity  has  been  maintained  either  by 
force  or  by  some  agency  regarded  by  the  people  as  embody- 
ing their  common  will.  In  the  earliest  forms  of  society 
this,  as  we  have  seen,  was  not  clearly  distinguished  from 
personal  and  individual  command.  But  as  the  concep- 
tion of  the  political  worked  free  from  that  of  the  personal 
agent,  it  could  be  recognized  more  and  more  that  the  ruler 
was  not  the  man — ^not  Henry  or  William, — ^but  the 
King  or  the  Parliament,  as  representing  the  nation.  Then 
government  became  a  more  consciously  moral  act.  Obe- 
dience was  not  humiliating,  because  the  members  were 
sovereign  as  well  as  subject.     It  was  not  heteronomy  but 


600  THE  FAMILY 

autonomy.  In  the  family  the  personal  relation  is  so  close 
that  this  easily  overshadows  the  fact  that  there  is  also 
a  family  relation  of  a  political  sort.  The  man  in  the 
patriarchal  family,  and  since,  has  exercised,  or  has  had 
the  legal  right  to  exercise  authority.  And  with  the  legal 
theory  of  inequality  to  support  him  it  is  not  strange  that 
he  should  often  have  conceived  that  obedience  was  due  to 
him  as  a  person,  and  not  to  him  as,  in  certain  cases,  best 
representing  the  joint  purpose  of  the  family,  just  as  in 
other  cases  the  woman  best  represents  this  same  purpose. 

Equality  or  Inequality. — But  even  when  there  had  been 
recognition  of  a  more  than  personal  attitude  the  question 
would  at  once  arise,  are  the  members  of  a  family  to  be 
considered  as  of  equal  or  unequal  importance?  The  an- 
swer until  recently  has  been  unequivocal.  In  spite  of  such 
apparent  exceptions  as  chivalry,  and  the  court  paid  to 
beauty  or  wit,  or  the  honor  accorded  to  individual  wives 
and  mothers,  woman  has  seldom  been  taken  seriously  in  the 
laws  and  institutions  of  society.  Opportunities  for  edu- 
cation and  full  participation  in  the  thought  and  life  of 
civilization  are  very  recent.  Public  school  education 
for  girls  is  scarcely  a  century  old.  College  education 
for  women,  in  a  general  sense,  is  of  the  present  genera- 
tion. But  the  conviction  has  steadily  gained  that  democ- 
racy cannot  treat  half  the  race  as  inferior  in  dignity, 
or  exclude  it  from  the  comradeship  of  life.  Under  primi- 
tive society  a  man  was  primarily  a  member  of  a  group 
or  caste,  and  only  secondarily  a  person.  A  woman  has 
been  in  this  situation  as  regards  her  sex.  She  is  now 
asserting  a  claim  to  be  considered  primarily  as  a  person, 
rather  than  as  a  woman.  This  general  movement,  like  the 
economic  movement,  has  seemed  to  affect  the  attitude 
of  unmarried  women,  and  to  a  less  degree,  of  men, 
toward  marriage,  and  to  involve  an  instability  of  the  fam- 
ily tie.  The  question  is  then  this;  does  the  family  neces- 
sarily involve  inequality,  or  can  it  be  maintained  on  9, 


UNSETTLED  PROBLEMS  601 

basis  of  equality?  Or  to  put  the  same  thing  from  another 
angle:  if  the  family  and  the  modern  movement  toward 
equality  are  at  variance,  which  ought  to  give  way? 

The  "pseudo-domestic"  theory  on  this  point  is  suggested 
by  its  general  position  on  the  economic  relations  of  the 
family  as  already  stated.  It  believes  that  the  family  must 
be  maintained  as  a  distinct  sphere  of  life,  coordinate  in 
importance  for  social  welfare  with  the  intellectual,  artis- 
tic, and  economic  spheres.  It  holds,  further,  that  the  fam- 
ily can  be  maintained  in  this  position  only  if  it  be  kept  as 
a  unique  controlling  influence  in  woman's  life,  isolated 
from  other  spheres.  This  of  course  involves  an  exclusion 
of  woman  from  a  portion  of  the  intellectual  and  political 
life,  and  therefore  an  inferiority  of  development,  even  if 
there  is  not  an  inferiority  of  capacity.  Some  of  this 
school  have  maintained  that  in  America  the  rapid  advance 
in  education  and  intelligence  among  women  has  rendered 
them  so  superior  to  the  average  man  who  has  to  leave 
school  for  business  at  an  early  age  that  they  are  unwilling 
to  marry.  A  German  alliterative  definition  of  woman's 
"sphere"  has  been  found  in  "the  four  K's" — Kirche,  Kin- 
der, Kiiche,  und  Kleider. 

If  the  permanence  of  the  family  rests  on  the  mainte- 
nance of  a  relation  of  inferiority,  it  is  indeed  in  a  perilous 
state.  All  the  social  and  political  forces  are  making  to- 
ward equality,  and  from  the  moral  standpoint  it  is  im- 
possible successfully  to  deny  Mill's  classic  statement,  "The 
only  school  of  genuine  moral  sentiment  is  society  between 
equals."  But  some  of  the  advocates  of  equality  have  ac- 
cepted the  same  fallacious  separation  between  the  family 
and  modern  culture.  They  have  assumed  that  the  family 
life  must  continue  to  be  unscientific  in  its  methods,  and 
meager  in  its  interests.  Some  women — like  some  men — un- 
doubtedly place  a  higher  value  on  book  learning,  musical 
and  dramatic  entertainment,  and  other  by-products  of 
modern  civihzation  than  on  the  elemental  human  sympathies 


602  THE  FAMILY 

and  powers  which  these  should  serve  to  enrich.  It  is  too 
easily  granted  that  the  opportunity  and  duty  of  woman 
as  wife  and  mother  are  limited  to  a  purely  unscientific  pro- 
vision for  physical  wants  to  the  exclusion  of  scientific 
methods,  intellectual  comradeship,  and  effective  grappling 
with  moral  problems. 

Isolation  Not  the  Solution. — ^The  solution  for  the  pres- 
ent unrest  is  therefore  to  be  found  not  in  forcing  the  sepa- 
ration between  the  family  on  the  one  hand  and  the  intel- 
lectual, political,  and  other  aspects  of  civilization  on  the 
other,  but  in  a  mutual  permeation.  They  think  very 
lightly  of  the  elemental  strength  of  sex  and  parental  in- 
stincts who  suppose  that  these  are  to  be  overslaughed  in 
any  great  portion  of  the  race  by  cultural  interests.  And 
it  is  to  ignore  the  history  of  political  progress  to  suppose 
that  organic  relations  founded  on  equality  and  democracy 
are  less  stable  than  those  resting  on  superiority  and  sub- 
ordination. The  fact  is  that  there  is  no  part  of  life  so 
much  in  need  of  all  that  modern  science  can  give,  and  no 
field  for  intellectual  penetration  and  technological  organi- 
zation so  great  as  the  family.  Correlative  with  its  control 
over  economic  processes  through  its  position  as  consumer, 
is  its  influence  over  social,  educational,  and  political  life, 
through  its  relation  to  the  children  who  are  constantly 
renewing  the  structure.  To  fulfill  the  possibilities  and  even 
the  duties  of  family  life  under  modern  conditions  requires 
both  scientific  training  and  civic  activity.  Provisions  for 
health  and  instruction  and  proper  social  life  in  school, 
provisions  for  parks  and  good  municipal  housekeeping, 
for  public  health  and  public  morals, — these  demand  the 
intelligent  interest  of  the  parent  and  have  in  most  cases 
their  natural  motive  in  the  family  necessities.  A  theory 
of  the  family  which  would  limit  the  parent,  especially  the 
mother,  to  "the  home"  needs  first  to  define  the  limits  of 
"the  home."  To  measure  its  responsibilities  by  the  limit 
of  the  street  door  is  as  absurd  as  to  suppose  that  the 


UNSETTLED  PROBLEMS  603 

sphere  of  justice  is  limited  by  the  walls  of  the  courtroom. 
A  broader  education  for  women  is  certainly  justified  by 
precisely  this  larger  meaning  of  the  care  of  children  and 
of  the  family  interests.  The  things  of  greatest  impor- 
tance to  human  life  have  scarcely  been  touched  as  yet  by 
science.  We  know  more  about  astrophysics  than  about 
health  and  disease ;  more  about  waste  in  steam  power  than 
about  waste  in  foods,  or  in  education ;  more  about  classical 
archaeology  than  about  the  actual  causes  of  poverty,  alco- 
holism, prostitution,  and  childlessness,  the  chief  enemies 
of  home  life.  In  the  light  of  the  actual  possibilities  and 
needs  of  family  life  two  positions  seem  equally  absurd :  the 
one  that  family  life  can  be  preserved  best  by  isolating  it, 
and  particularly  its  women,  from  culture ;  the  other,  that 
it  does  not  afford  an  opportunity  for  a  full  life.  Neither 
of  these  errors  can  be  corrected  apart  from  the  other.  It 
is  in  the  mutual  permeation  and  interaction  of  the  respect- 
ive spheres  of  family  and  cultural  life,  not  in  their  isola- 
tion, that  the  family  is  to  be  strengthened.  Here,  as  in  the 
economic  field,  no  one  family  can  succeed  entirely  by  itself. 
The  problem  is  largely  a  social  one.  But  every  family 
which  is  free  and  yet  united,  which  shows  comradeship  as 
well  as  mutual  devotion,  is  forcing  the  issue  and  preparing 
the  way  for  the  more  perfect  family  of  the  future. 

2.  Authority  over  the  Family:  Divorce. — The  strains 
which  have  been  noticed  in  the  foregoing  paragraphs  have 
centered  public  attention  on  the  outward  symptoms  of  un- 
rest and  maladaptation.  Current  discussions  of  family 
problems  are  likely  to  turn  largely  upon  the  increase  of  di- 
vorce. For  the  reasons  which  have  been  given  there  has 
doubtless  been  increasing  tendency  to  seek  divorce,  and 
this  may  continue  until  more  stable  conditions  are  reached. 
Now  that  the  authority  of  the  church  is  less  implicitly  ac- 
cepted, individuals  are  thrown  back  upon  their  own  volun- 
tary controls,  and  whether  marriages  are  arranged  by  pa- 
rents as  in  France,  or  formed  almost  solely  on  the  initia- 


604  THE  FAMILY 

tive  and  ungulded  will  of  the  parties  as  in  America,  the 
result  is  much  the  same.  Two  classes  of  persons  seek  di- 
vorce. Those  of  individualistic  temperament,  who  have 
formed  the  marriage  for  selfish  ends  or  in  frivolous  mo- 
ments, are  likely  to  find  its  constraints  irksome  when  the 
expected  happiness  fails  to  be  realized  and  the  charm  of 
novelty  is  past.  This  is  simply  one  type  of  immoral  con- 
duct which  may  be  somewhat  checked  by  public  opinion 
or  legal  restraint,  but  can  be  overcome  only  by  a  more 
serious  and  social  attitude  toward  all  life.  The  other  class 
finds  in  the  bond  itself,  under  certain  conditions,  a  seem- 
ingly fatal  obstacle  to  the  very  purpose  which  it  was  de- 
signed to  promote :  unfaithfulness,  cruelty,  habitual  intox- 
ication, and  other  less  coarse,  but  equally  effective  modes 
of  behavior  may  be  destructive  of  the  common  life  and 
morally  injurious  to  the  children.  Or  alienation  of  spirit 
may  leave  external  companionship  empty  of  moral  unity 
and  value,  if  not  positively  opposed  to  self-respect.  This 
class  is  evidently  actuated  by  sincere  motives.  How  far 
society  may  be  justified  in  permitting  dissolution  of  the 
family  under  these  conditions,  and  how  far  it  may  properly 
insist  on  some  personal  sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  larger 
social  ends  is  simply  another  form  of  the  problem  which 
we  considered  in  the  economic  field — the  antithesis  between 
individual  rights  and  public  welfare.  The  solution  in  each 
case  cannot  be  reached  by  any  external  rule.  It  will  be 
found  only  in  the  gradual  socializing  of  the  individual  on 
the  one  hand,  and  in  the  correlative  development  of  society 
to  the  point  where  it  respects  all  its  members  and  makes 
greater  freedom  possible  for  them  on  the  other.  Mean- 
while it  must  not  be  overlooked  that  the  very  conception 
of  permanence  in  the  union,  upheld  by  the  state,  is  itself 
effective  toward  thoughtful  and  well-considered  action 
after  as  well  as  before  marriage.  Some  causes  of  friction 
may  be  removed,  some  tendencies  to  alienation  may  be  sup- 
pressed, if  the  situation  is  resolutely  faced  from  the  stand- 


UNSETTLED  PROBLEMS  605 

point  of  a  larger  social  interest  rather  than  from  that  of 
momentary  or  private  concern. 

General  Law  of  Social  Health. — Divorce  is  a  symptom 
rather  than  a  disease.  The  main  reliance  in  cases  of  fam- 
ily pathology,  as  for  the  diseases  of  the  industrial  and 
economic  system,  is  along  the  lines  which  modern  science 
is  pursuing  in  the  field  of  medicine.  It  is  isolating  certain 
specific  organisms  which  invade  the  system  under  favorable 
circumstances  and  disturb  its  equilibrium.  But  it  finds 
that  the  best,  and  in  fact  the  only  ultimate  protection 
against  disease  is  in  the  general  "resisting  power"  of  the 
living  process.  This  power  may  be  temporarily  aided  by 
stimulation  or  surgery,  but  the  ultimate  source  of  its  re- 
newal is  found  in  the  steady  rebuilding  of  new  structures 
to  replace  the  old  stagnation ;  the  retention  of  broken- 
down  tissues  means  weakness  and  danger.  The  social  or- 
ganism does  not  escape  this  law.  Science  will  succeed  in 
pointing  out  the  specific  causes  for  many  of  the  moral 
evils  from  which  we  suffer.  Poverty,  crime,  social  injus- 
tice, breaking  down  of  the  family,  political  corruption, 
are  not  all  to  be  accepted  simply  as  "evils"  or  "wicked- 
ness" in  general.  In  many  cases  their  amount  may  be 
greatly  reduced  when  we  understand  their  specific  causes 
and  apply  a  specific  remedy.  But  the  great  reliance  is 
upon  the  primal  forces  which  have  brought  mankind  so  far 
along  the  line  of  advance.  The  constant  remaking  of 
values  in  the  search  for  the  genuinely  satisfying,  the  con- 
stant forming,  criticizing,  and  reshaping  of  ideals,  the 
reverence  for  a  larger  law  of  life  and  a  more  than  indi- 
vidual moral  order,  the  outgoing  of  sympathy  and  love, 
the  demand  for  justice — all  these  are  the  forces  which 
have  built  our  present  social  system,  and  these  must  con- 
tinually reshape  it  into  more  adequate  expressions  of  gen- 
uine moral  life  if  it  is  to  continue  unimpaired  or  in  greater 
vigor. 

We  do  not   know  in   any   full  sense  whence  the  life 


606  THE  FAMILY 

of  the  spirit  comes,  and  we  cannot,  while  standing  upon 
the  platform  of  ethics,  predict  its  future.  But  if  our 
study  has  shown  anything,  it  is  that  the  moral  is  a  life,  not 
a  something  ready  made  and  complete  once  for  all.  It  is 
instinct  with  movement  and  struggle,  and  it  is  precisely 
the  new  and  serious  situations  which  call  out  new  vigor 
and  lift  it  to  higher  levels.  Ethical  science  tracing  this 
process  of  growth,  has  as  its  aim  not  to  create  life — for 
the  life  is  present  already, — but  to  discover  its  laws  and 
principles.  And  this  should  aid  in  making  its  further 
advance  stronger,  freer,  and  more  assured  because  more 
intelligent. 


LITERATURE 

On  the  early  history  of  the  Family,  see  the  works  cited  at  close 
of  ch.  ii.;  also  Starcke,  The  Primitive  Family,  1889;  Westermarck, 
The  History  of  Human  Marriage,  1901 ;  Howard,  A  History  of  Matri- 
monial Institutions,  3  vols.,  1904.  On  present  problems :  H.  Bosanquet, 
The  Family,  1906;  Parsons,  The  Family,  1906;  Bryce,  Marriage  and 
Divorce  in  Roman  and  in  English  Lata,  in  Studies  in  History  and 
Jurisprudence,  1901;  Ellis,  Man  and  Woman;  Thomas,  Sex  and  So- 
ciety, 1906;  Bebel,  Woman  and  Socialism;  Riehl,  Die  Familie, 


INDEX 


Ab6lard,  150  f. 

Achan,  18,  29,  60,  104 

Addams,  Jane,  144 

^schylus,  112,  116,  139 

Esthetic,  in  Greek  valuation  of 
conduct,  91,  112,  116  f.,  133  f., 
135  n.,   137 

Agency,  public,  see  Public 
Agency ;  rationalizing,  40-2 ; 
socializing,  42-8 

Altruism,  discussion  of  theories 
concerning,  384-91 ;  altruistic 
springs,  385;  true  and  false, 
387-8;  contrasted  with  social 
justice,  389 

Amos,  85 

Approbation,  399,  402 

Angell,  9 

Aquinas,  Thomas,  150 

Aristophanes,  112 

Aristotle,  on  the  criterion  of  a 
moral  act,  12,  37,  202;  on  na- 
ture and  the  natural,  7,  127  f.; 
on  the  State,  127  ff.;  Eudaemo- 
nism,  134 ;  the  "  mean,"  134 ;  on 
"  highmindedness,"  135 ;  on  the 
reflective  life,  138;  on  the  good 
man,  279,  324;  on  the  right, 
306  n.;  on  justice,  414;  re- 
ferred to,  230,  455 

Arnold,  M.,  91,  338 

Art  and  arts,  as  a  rationalizing 
agency,  41  f.;  as  a  socializing 
agency,  45  f.;  create  new  in- 
terests, 79  f.;  Hebrew,  107; 
Greek,  112,  114  f.;  mediaeval, 
147,  149;  Church  and  modern, 
155;  as  a  good  that  is  sharable, 
559 

Asceticism,  145,  185,  366,  576 

Attitude,  defined,  229;  empha- 
sized by  one  type  of  theory, 
236-7,  240;  relation  to  will, 
246 ;  see  Motive  and  "  How  " 

Augustine,  150 


Aurelius,  Marcus,  136 

Authority,  of  group,  Q6  f.;  be- 
hind customs,  52;  in  Israel's 
religion,  96  f.;  of  custom  chal- 
lenged in  Greece,  111  ff.,  119 
ff.;  of  the  church,  145-7;  con- 
flict of  reason  with,  165  f. ;  of 
duty,  344;  in  the  family,  599 
f.;  see  Duty,  Control,  Stand- 
ard 

Autonomy,  as  essence  of  moral 
duty,  225;  Kant's  conception 
of,  169,  346,  352;  in  later  util- 
itarianism, 361;  in  State  and 
the  family,  599  f.;  see  Control, 
Duty,  Law,  State 

Australian  customs,  marriage, 
22;  initiatory,  58  f.;  regulated 
duel,  63 

Bacon,  Francis,  4,  164,  165 

Bacon,  Roger,  164 

Bagehot,  53 

Bain,  on  happiness,  265;  on  utili- 
tarianism, 286;  his  account  of 
duty,  356-8 

Balzac,  189 

Bayard,  Chevalier,  149 

Benevolence,  160  f.,  375-91 

Bentham,  on  motive,  228,  247-8,' 
354;  on  moral  science,  235;  on 
disposition,  254-5;  on  pleas- 
ure and  happiness,  264,  286;  on 
utilitarian  calculus,  275-6;  de- 
nial of  quality  of  pleasure, 
282;  on  pleasure  of  sympathy, 
291 ;  democratic  individualism 
of,  525 

Blackstone,  578 

Blood  feud,  28,  62  f.,  70,  456 

Boniface  VIII.,  Bull  of,  147 

Bosanquet,  Helen,  584,  595  f. 

Bryce,  James,  146 

Caesar,  18 


607 


608 


INDEX 


Capital  and  labor,  499,  501  f.,  505 
f.,  532,  543  f. 

Capitalism,  as  method  of  indus- 
try, 78,  158-60,  498  f.,  508,  538, 
545;  see  Capital,  Corporation 

Carelessness,  462-4 

Carlyle,  criticism  of  individual- 
ism, 161,  192;  of  utilitarianism, 
265,  289  n. 

Casuistry,  325-8 

Categorical  Imperative,  344 

Celts,  clan  system  of,  144;  see 
also  Ireland,  Welsh 

Character,  formation  of,  9  f.; 
organization  of,  in  group 
morality,  72;  in  Hebrews,  104- 
6;  among  Greeks,  138-41;  rela- 
tion to  desire  and  deliberation, 
202;  moral  importance  of,  229, 
233;  relation  to  will,  246;  rela- 
tion to  conduct.  Chapter  XIII.; 
and  disposition,  254-7;  meas- 
ures the  pleasant  and  unpleas- 
ant, 277-9;  unification  of,  283; 
its  reconstruction,  343,  362; 
recognized  by  law,  460  f. 

Charity,  in  Middle  Ages,  146, 
157;  and  right  to  life,  444;  see 
Benevolence 

Chastity,  146,  177 

Chief,  authority  of,  61 

Child-labor,  193  f.,  444,  489,  538, 
540  f. 

Chinese  customs,  17  f.,  69 

Chivalry,  149  f. 

Christian  conceptions,  love,  100; 
sacrifice,  102;  faith,  103;  free- 
dom, 108;  social  order,  109, 
187;  asceticism  and  authority, 
145  f.,  364;  unity  of  members, 
147;  moral  value  of  labor,  156; 
relation  to  social  order,  184  ff.; 
see  Church,  Hebrew 

Church,  its  contribution  to  mod- 
ern morality,  142;  its  ideals, 
145;  and  jural  theory  of 
morals,  218  f.;  its  influence  on 
history  of  the  family,  576-8; 
see  also  Religion 

Cicero,  152 

Civil  Society,  Chapter  XXI.;  de- 
fined, 451;  reform  of  its  ad- 
ministration, 471-3 

Clark,  J.  B.,  542 


Class  ideals,  of  Greeks,  116  f.;  of 
Germans    and    Celts,    144    f.; 
honor  and,  86  f.;  as  source  of 
^     moral  terms,  175  f. 

Class    interests,    84,    94,    119-24, 
_       127,  162,  474 

Closed  shop,  559-61 

Collective  Agencies,  see  Corpora- 
tions, Labor  Union,  Public 
Agency,  Socialism 

Collectivism,  its  formula,  484; 
contrasted  with  socialism,  556 

Colonna,  ^gidius,  147 
L  Communism,  161 

Competition,  modern  theory  of, 
158,  531,  542;  tends  to  destroy 
itself,  532,  538;  crude  method 
of  selecting  ability,  559;  Car- 
lyle on,  161 

Conduct,  as  subject  of  ethics,  1; 
two  aspects  of,  2;  three  stages 
of,  8-10;  three  levels  of,  37-9; 
first  level.  Chapter  III.;  second 
level.  Chapter  IV.;  third  level. 
Chapters  V.-VIII.;  nature  of, 
205,  237-8;  relation  to  char- 
acter. Chapter  XIII.;  place  of 
happiness  in.  Chapter  XIV.; 
place  of  reason  in.  Chapter 
XVI. 

Conflicting  services,  problem  of, 
493 

Conscience,  transition  from  cus- 
tom to,  73  f.,  179;  Greek  sym- 
bols of,  139  f.;  Stoic  sugges- 
tion of,  140  f.;  with  Ab6lard, 
151;  meaning  of,  183,  188  f.; 
analysis  of,  see  Intuitionalism, 
Knowledge,  Reason 

Conscientiousness,  405,  434 

Consequences,  Chapter  XIII.;  im- 
portance of,  234-5,  238;  denied 
by  Kant,  242-4;  when  foreseen 
form  intention,  247;  practical 
importance,  251 ;  as  moral  sanc- 
tions, 358-60;  as  self-realiza- 
tion, 392;  accidental,  459-60; 
careless,  463 

Content,  see  Consequences,  and 
"  What " 

Contracts,  versus  status,  20; 
theory  and  value  of,  158,  452 
f .,  496 ;  of  little  benefit  to  wage- 
earner,    503-5,    529    f.;    as    ob- 


INDEX 


609 


stacle  to  legislation,  505  f.;  an- 
alyzed, 527  ff. 

Control,  the  right  as,  7;  in  primi- 
tive group,  26-9,  32,  34,  52; 
primitive  means  of  enforcing, 
54  fF.;  challenged  in  Greece, 
118  ff.;  problem  of,  217-9; 
-eories  concerning,  225,  232; 
external  and  internal,  353-61; 
self-control,  407;  see  Jural, 
Law,  Standard,  Right 

Convention,  in  Greek  morals  and 
ethics.   111   f.,  124  f. 

Cooperation,  and  mutual  aid,  43; 
in  industry,  43;  in  war,  44  f.; 
in  art,  45  f.;  as  organized  in 
corporations  and  unions,  495- 
507 

Corporations,  moral  difficulties 
of,  498;  management  of,  500 
f.;  relations  to  employes  and 
public,  501  ff. ;  require  new 
types  of  morality,  517-22;  cap- 
italization of,  561   ff. 

Corruption,  political,  477,  537-9 

Coulanges,  19 

Courage,  42,  118,  410-13 

Courts,  primitive,  61;  as  school 
of  morality,  182  f.;  as  instru- 
ments of  oppression,  195;  civil, 
ethical  value  of,  454;  in  labor 
disputes,  504  f.;  on  police 
power,  505  f.,  555  f.;  recogni- 
tion of  public  welfare  by,  555  f. 

Covenant,  in  Hebrew  moral  de- 
velopment, 94  ff. 

Criminal  Procedure,  reform  of, 
468-9 

Criterion  of  the  moral,  5-13,  202 
ff.;  of  the  good  and  right,  typi- 
cal theories  of,  224  ff.;  see 
Good,  Right,  Kant,  Utilitar- 
ianism, Plato,  Aristotle 

Crusades,  154 

Cunningham,  W.,  157 

Custom,  and  the  term  ethics,  1; 
in  early  group  life,  17  ff.;  as 
"  second  level "  of  conduct,  38, 
51;  general  discussion  of,  51 
ff.,  171  ff.;  educational,  57  ff.; 
jural,  59  ff.;  birth,  marriage, 
death,  64  f.;  festal,  65;  hospi- 
tality, 67  f.;  values  and  de- 
fects of,  68   ff.;   transition  to 


conscience  from,  73  ff.;  transi- 
tion among  Hebrews,  95  f.; 
among  Greeks,  110  ff.;  opposed 
to  "nature,"  120  f.;  Grote  on, 
172  f.;  compared  with  reflec- 
tive morality,  172  ff.;  and 
moral  rules,  330-2,  431 

Cultus,  of  Hebrew  priesthood,  97 
ff. 

Cynics,  112,  125  f. 

Cyrenaics,  112,  125  f. 

Dante,  150 

Darwinism,  and  morals,  371  f.; 
see  Naturalism 

Deliberation,  202,  319;  and  intui- 
tion, 322-3;  and  conscience, 
421;  of  crucial  importance,  464 

Democracy,  in  Greece,  119  f.;  de- 
velopment of,  151  ff.,  162  f.; 
moral,  303;  and  moral  prob- 
lems, 474-81 ;  the  corporation  in 
relation  to,  500;  and  economic 
problems,  521  f.;  and  individ- 
ualism, 530,  535;  as  agency, 
558;  and  the  family,  594,  600  f. 

Descartes,  164  f. 

Desire,  hedonistic  theory  of,  269; 
relation  to  pleasure,  270-1;  to 
happiness,  272-3;  and  reason, 
308;  their  organization,  317; 
conflict  with  duty,  339-46;  and 
temperance,  406-8 

Dharna,  63 

Distribution,  theories  of,  545-50; 
present  inequalities  in,  545;  in- 
dividualism and,  546;  equal 
division,  547;  a  working  pro- 
gramme, 548-50 

Divorce,  574  f.,  577,  603-5 

Dominicans,  149  f. 

Duty,  Chapter  XVII.;  Stoic  con- 
ception, 140  f.;  origin  of  the 
term,  176;  standpoint  of,  232; 
double  meaning  of,  337;  con- 
flict with  desire,  340;  explana- 
tion of,  342-4,  362-3;  author- 
ity of,  344;  social  character  of, 
345;  Kant's  view,  346-52;  utili- 
tarian view  of,  353-62 

Eastman,  Charles,  43,  54,  60 

Eckstein,  577 

Economic  conditions  and  forces. 


610 


INDEX 


in  kinship  and  family  groups, 
24  f.;  help  to  eflFect  transition 
from  group  morality  to  con- 
science, 76;  among  Hebrews, 
93  f.;  among  Greeks,  119  ff.; 
modern,  155-63;  in  reflective 
morality,  194;  restrict  physical 
freedom,  444;  and  freedom  of 
thought,  447;  legislative  reform 
of,  481;  in  relation  to  happi- 
ness and  character,  487  ff.; 
social  aspects  of,  491  ff.;  re- 
quire ethical  readjustment, 
496,  517-22;  impersonal  char- 
acter, 511  f.;  ethical  principles, 
514  ff.;  unsettled  problems, 
523-65 

Education,  moral  significance  of, 
168  f.;  right  to,  446  f.;  restric- 
tions upon,  448  f. ;  as  a  means 
of  justice,  548  f.,  557  f. 

Egoism,  214,  258,  303,  423,  467; 
hedonistic,  288-9  (see  Chapter 
XV.) ;  naturalistic  theory  of, 
368-74;  contrasted  with  altru- 
ism, 375;  explanation  of,  377- 
81;  reasonable  self-love,  382; 
see  Self,  Individualism 

Ellis,  H.,  584 

Eliot,  George,  154,  301 

Emerson,  349,  350,  446  n.,  470, 
581 

Empiricism,  226,  231,  306;  dis- 
cussion of,  329-32 

Ends,  and  Means,  210;  relation 
of  happiness  to,  273-4;  utili- 
tarian, conflicts  with  its  hedo- 
nistic motive,  289;  social  and 
rational,  314;  kingdom  of,  315 
and  433 

Enlightenment,  period  of,  163, 
165  ff. 

Epictetus,  140 

Epicureans,  theory  of  life,  125, 
135,  218;  on  friendship,  125, 
130,    187 

Ethics,  definition,  1;  derivation 
of  term,  1 ;  specific  problem  of, 
2;  method  of,  3-13 

Ethos,  meaning,  1;  Chapter  IV., 
175 

Eudsemonism,  134,  230;  see  Hap- 
piness, Self-realization 

Euripides,  112,  116,  139 


Evil,  problem  of,  in  Israel,  100 

ff. 
Excitement,  and  pleasure,  408 
Ezekiel,  on  personal  responsibil- 
ity, 104 

"  Pagan,  J.  O.,"  503 

Family,  or  Household  Group,  23- 
31;  as  an  agency  in  early  so- 
ciety, 47-9;  as  affected  by  re- 
flective morality,  193;  and 
contract,  453;  history  of,  571- 
8;  psychological  basis  of,  578- 
84;  strain  in,  584-9;  present 
factors  of  strain  in,  590-4;  and 
the  economic  order,  594-9; 
authority  in,  599-603;  and  di- 
vorce, 603-5 

Feelings,  the  hedonistic  ultimate, 
225;  an  ambiguous  term,  249- 
51;  Mill  on  importance  of,  294 

Feud,  see  Blood  Feud 

Fichte,  490 

Fisher,  G.  P.,  143 

Fiske,  John,  581 

Franchises,  abuses  of,  539 

Franciscans,  149  f. 

Francke,  Kuno,  149 

Freedom,  Pauline  conception, 
108;  formal  and  real,  158  ff., 
437-9,  483  f.,  525  f.,  529,  549; 
see  Rights 

Freund,  E.,  555 

Galileo,   164 

Genetic  Method  in  Ethics,  3 

Gentleman,  in  Greece,  116  f.; 
mediaeval  and  class  ideal  of, 
144  f.,  149,  155-7 

Genung,  J.  F.,  102 

George,  Henry,  162,  510  f. 

Germans,  customs  of,  18,  53; 
character  and  ideals,  143  f., 
149;  family  among,  575  f. 

Golden  Rule,  334 

Good,  the,  as  subject  of  ethics,  1, 
7  f.,  12,  203-5,  215,  236,  241; 
origin  of  the  conception  of 
moral,  183  f.;  in  group  moral- 
ity, 69-72;  Hebrew  ideals  of, 
107-9;  significance  in  Greek 
thought,  113,  117,  119,  124; 
Greek  individualistic  and  hedo- 
nistic  theories   of,    126;   Plato 


INDEX 


611 


on,  131-4,  136  f.,  140;  Aristotle 
on,  134  f.,  138;  and  modern 
civilization,  154  ff.,  557  f.;  as 
happiness,  169,  Chapter  XIV.; 
private  and  general,  289-300, 
308;  the  true,  208,  284,  302; 
good  men  as  standard,  279, 
324;  rational  and  sensuous, 
337;  wealth  as,  487;  see  Hap- 
piness, Value 

Goodness,  233,  251;  formal  and 
material,  259  n.;  of  character, 
279;  and  happiness,  284;  and 
social  interest,  298;  intrinsic, 
318-20;  and  progress,  422;  see 
Virtue 

Government,  distrust  of,  474;  re- 
form of,  479-80;  see  also 
State 

Gray,  J.  H.,  17 

Greeks,  early  customs,  18  f.,  46; 
compared  with  Hebrews,  91  f.; 
moral  development  of,  111-41, 
197 

Green,  on  duty,  225;  on  hedo- 
nism, 269;  on  practical  value  of 
utilitarianism,  287-8;  on  moral 
progress,  429 

Grosscup,  Judge,  552 

Grote,  19,  172  f.,  178 

Group  ideal,  mediaeval,  144  f.; 
see  Class  Ideal 

Group  Life,  early.  Chapter  II.; 
necessary  to  understand  moral 
life,  17;  typical  facts  of,  17; 
kinship,  21  If.;  family,  23  ff.; 
ownership  of  land  in,  24;  other 
economic  aspects  of,  25  f.; 
political  aspects  of,  26-30; 
rights  and  responsibilities  of 
individual  in,  27-30;  religious 
aspects  of,  30-2;  age  and  sex 
groups  in,  32-4;  moral  signifi- 
cance of,  34  f. 

Group  Morality,  34  f.,  51  if.; 
''alues  and  defects  of,  68-73; 
in  early  Hebrew  life,  92;  in 
Middle  Ages,  144  f.;  persist- 
ence of,  173-8;  in  legal  prog- 
ress, 456;  and  international  re- 
lations, 481  f.;  in  industrial 
conflicts,  500 

Habit,   and  character,   9    f.,    12, 


202;  effect  on  knowledge,  319; 
effect  upon  desire,  342-3 

Hadley,  A.  T.,  475  n.,  488,  563 

Hammurabi,  Code  of,  82,  105, 
574 

Happiness,  and  pleasure,  230, 
263;  ambiguity  in  conception 
of,  266;  relation  to  desire,  272- 
4;  as  standard,  275-80;  ele- 
ments in  its  constitution,  281-3; 
final  or  moral,  284;  general, 
286;  and  sympathy,  300-3;  and 
eflSciency,  373;  private  and 
public,  395-7;  see  Eudaemo- 
nism.  Good 

Hazlitt,  on  Bentham,  268;  on  ex- 
citement, 409  n. 

Hearn,  24 

Hebrews,  early  morality,  18; 
moral  development,  91-110; 
compared  with  Greek,  91 

Hedonism,  230;  Hebrew,  106  f.; 
Greek,  126,  132  f . ;  criticism  of, 
269-75;  universalistic,  286; 
egoistic  character  of,  289-94; 
Kant's,  309;  paradox  of,  352; 
its  theory  of  duty,  353 

Hegel,  on  institutional  character 
of  morals,  225-6 

High-mindedness,  Aristotle's  de- 
scription of,  135  n. 

Hobhouse,  L.  T.,  on  formation 
of  custom,  54;  on  social  order 
and  individuality,  428;  on  the 
family,  575  f.,  577 

Hoffding,  253  n. 

Honesty,  188,  414,  496 

Honor,  85-8,  144  f.,  176 

Hosea,  95 

Hospitality,  in  group  morality, 
67 

"How,"  the,  in  conduct,  5-8,  228 
f.,  240;  in  group  morality,  69 
f . ;  in  Hebrew  morality,  102  ff. ; 
in  Greek  ethics,  136  ff.;  see  At- 
titude 

Howard,  576 

Ibsen,  82,  100,  157,  303,  588 
Ideal,  V8.  actual  in  Greek  thought, 

136-8;  meaning  of,  421  f. 
India,  customs  of,  26,  63,  524 
Indians    (American),  25,  43,  54, 

60 


61^ 


INDEX 


Indifferent  Acts,  205-6,  210-11 

Individual,  the,  in  early  group 
life,  20,  22  f.,  27-30,  34,  71  f.; 
collision  of  with  group,  74,  75 
f.,  82  ff.,  88,  184-7,  432;  among 
Hebrews,  104;  development  of, 
in  modern  civilization,  148-69; 
as  affected  by  reflective  moral- 
ity, 187-92;  and  society,  427- 
36;  relation  to  corporations 
and  unions,  500-3;  see  Indivi- 
dualism, Self 

Individualism,  as  factor  in  tran- 
sition from  custom  to  con- 
science, 75;  forces  producing, 
76-87;  in  Israel,  94,  102,  104; 
in  Greece,  114-24,  432;  in 
Greek  ethical  theory,  124-6;  in 
modern  world,  149-63,  184-6, 
220-3,  432  f.;  in  ethical  theory, 
225  f.,  290;  Carlyle's  criticism 
of,  265  f.;  hedonistic,  289  ff., 
301  f.;  as  self-assertion,  368- 
75;  true  and  false,  481;  politi- 
cal formula  of,  483  f.;  in  eco- 
nomic theory,  523-35;  demo- 
cratic, 525,  530  f . ;  "  survival  of 
the  fittest,"  525,  532-4;  values, 
527  f.,  548  f.;  does  not  secure 
real  freedom,  529;  nor  justice, 
530  ff.,  535,  546  f.;  other  de- 
fects of,  551  ff.;  in  U.  S.  Con- 
stitution, 534 ;  on  "  unearned 
increment,"  564  f.;  in  family, 
604;  see  Individual,  Self 

Industry,  as  a  rationalizing 
agency,  39-42 ;  differentiation 
in,  41;  as  a  socializing  agency, 
42  f.;  factor  in  effecting  tran- 
sition from  custom  to  con- 
science, 76-8;  modern  develop- 
ment of,  155-9;  agencies  of, 
497 

Initiation,  in  primitive  tribes,  58 

Institutions,  192-5,  222,  225-6;  see 
Chapter  XX. 

Intention,  and  Motive,  246-54, 
257-8,  261;  and  accident,  63, 
104,  459-60;  see  Deliberation 

Intuitionalism,  226,  232,  306;  dis- 
cussion of,  317-25;  and  casuis- 
try, 325-8 

Ireland,  ancient  law  of,  24  f.,  62, 
83 


Israel,  moral  development  of, 
91-110,  197 

James,  William,  on  the  social 
self,  85-7;  on  animal  activity, 
204;  on  effect  of  emotion  on 
ideas,  253 

Japanese  morality,  18 

Jesus,  106  f.,  109 

Job,  moral  theory  in,  97,  101  f., 
106 

Judgments,  moral;  see  Moral 

Jural  influence,  7,  103,  113  f., 
177,  218-9,  224,  328,  353-6,  439, 
454-5,  467-8 

Justice,  in  primitive  society,  27 
f.;  as  Hebrew  ideal,  94  f.,  99 
f.,  Iu8  f.;  in  Greek  theory,  113 
f.;  natural  and  conventional, 
120  f.;  as  interest  of  the 
stronger,  122-4;  modern  de- 
mand for,  148,  161  ff.;  and 
charity,  148,  389  f.;  virtue  of, 
414-7;  development  of  civil, 
456-63;  formal  and  substantial, 
465  f .,  531 ;  social,  161,  410,  521, 
556-8;  the  new,  496  f.;  and  in- 
dividualism, 530-5;  in  distribu- 
tion, theories  of,  545-50 

Kafirs,  clanship  among,  19,  35 
Kant,  on  unsocial  sociableness  of 
man,  75;  forces  of  progress, 
87  f.;  his  Critique  of  Pure 
Reason,  166;  on  dignity  of 
man,  167;  general  standpoint, 
169;  individualism  of,  191;  and 
the  "  law  of  nature,"  222  n. ;  on 
moral  law,  228-9;  on  the  Good 
Will,  241-3;  his  theory  of  will 
discussed,  241-46;  on  egoistic 
hedonism,  289;  theory  of  prac- 
tical reason,  309-17;  theory  of 
duty,  344,  346-52;  on  legality 
and  morality,  432;  cf.  also  231, 
492,  580 
Kidd,  Dudley,  19,  23,  35 
Kinship,  21  ff.;  see  Group  Life 
Knowledge,  place  in  morals,  215; 
theories  of,  231-2;  close  con- 
nection with  emotion,  256  n.; 
with  character,  279;  see  Chap- 
ter XVI.;  Kant's  theory  of, 
309-16;    intuitional    theory    of. 


INDEX 


613 


I 


317-24;  casuijtical  view,  325-9; 
principles  in,  333-4;  and  sym- 
pathy,    334;     and     conscience, 

418-23 

Labor,  differentiation  of,  in  early 
society,  41;  the  gentleman  and, 
156;  church  and,  156;  and  the 
law,  504-7;  conditions  of,  540 
f.;  of  women  and  children,  540 
f.;  exploitation  of,  542-4;  Prof. 
Seager's  programme  for  bene- 
fit of,  566  ff.;  see  Industry, 
Labor  Union,  Capital 

Labor  Union,  moral  aspects  of, 
499  f.;  revives  group  morality, 
J  500;  relations  to  the  law,  503 
ff.;  disadvantages  of,  503-6; 
violence  of,  541;  open  and 
closed  shop,  559  ff. 

Laissez-faire,  161,  475 

Land,  "  unearned  increment," 
510  f. 

Lankester,  Ray,  168 

Law,  as  control  in  group  life,  59- 
63;  in  Hebrew  moral  develop- 
ment, 95-8;  righteousness  of 
the,  103;  Greek  conceptions  of, 
118-23;  of  nature,  130,  136, 
152,  222;  Roman,  142,  152, 
222;  and  government,  194  f.; 
as  defining  rights,  454;  devel- 
opment of,  456  ff.;  formal  in, 
465 ;  needed  reforms  in,  468  ff . ; 
relation  to  corporations  and 
unions,  503-7;  needed  to  em- 
body and  enforce  moral  stand- 
ards, 520  f. ;  moral,  see  Jural; 
and  Right;  see  Civil  Society, 
Courts,  Justice,  Legal,  State 

Legal  and  Moral,  177,  182  f., 
433,  439,  454-5,  467-8;  see  also 
Jural,  Law,  Right 

Leibniz,   165 

Levels  of  conduct,  37-9,  51,  73 

Liability,  equals  external  respon- 
sibility, 436 

Liberty,  struggle  for,  84  f.;  see 
Freedom,  Rights 

"  Life,"  Hebrew  and  Christian 
moral  ideal,  107;  the  moral  as, 
606 

Locke,  on  natural  rights,  152;  on 
the    "natural   light,"    166^   his 


Essay,  166;  on  danger  of  fixed 

rules,  329 
Love,    between    the    sexes,    107; 

psychological   analysis    of,   578 

ff.;  as  moral  ideal,  100,  108  f. 
Lubbock,  428 

Machine,  in  production,  507  f. 

MacLennan,   24 

Magic,  contrasted  with  religion, 
30  n. ;  influence  on  morals,  457 
f.;  see  Taboos 

Maine,  status  and  contract,  20; 
Slav  families,  60 

Mallock,  W.  H.,  533 

Marriage,  regulations  for,  in 
group  moralitj^  64  f. ;  viola- 
tion of,  provokes  moral  reflec- 
tion, 106;  in  reflective  morality, 
193;  and  contract,  453;  Roman, 
574  f.;  church  views  of,  576  f.; 
see  Divorce,  Family,  Sex 

Marti,  98 

Mead,  G.  H.,  164 

Mean,  Aristotle's  conception  of, 
134  f. 

Measure,  among  Greeks,  112  f. 

Men's  clubs  and  houses,  32  f. 

Micah,  99 

Mill,  John  Stuart,  on  Bentham's 
method,  235  n.;  on  motive  and 
intention,  248;  on  disposition, 
254;  on  partial  and  complete 
intent,  256;  on  the  desirable, 
265 ;  on  the  quality  of  pleasure, 
279-80;  on  utilitarian  standard, 
286;  on  general  happiness,  290; 
criticism  of  Bentham,  293;  on 
desire  for  social  unity,  294,  295, 
296;  on  personal  affections,  299 
n.;  on  general  rules,  330;  as 
democratic  individualist,  525 ; 
on  private  property,  553  f .,  556 ; 
on  equality  in  the  family,  601 

Monasticism,  149  f.,  185  f.,  187; 
women  under,  576  f. 

Moral,  derivation  of  term,  1  f.; 
characteristics  of,  5-13,  49  f., 
51,  73,  89,  201-11;  conceptions, 
derivation  of,  175-7;  differen- 
tiation of,  177-92;  see  Morality 

Morality,  customary  or  group,  51 
ff.;  defined,  73;  Hebrew,  91  ff. 
(Chapter  VI.);  Greek,  111  ff. 


614 


INDEX 


(Chapter  VII.);  Modern,  142 
ff.;  customary  and  reflective, 
compared,  171  if.;  subjective 
and  objective,  259;  Kant's  view 
of,  309-10;  social  nature  of, 
431;  and  legality,  433,  439; 
changes  in,  necessitated  by 
present  economic  conditions, 
496  f.,  517  ff. 

Mores,  or  customs.  Chapter  IV.; 
definition,  51;  authority  and 
origin  of,  52-4;  means  of  en- 
forcing, 54-7,  172 

Moses,  82 

Motives,  216,  228,  237;  in  custom- 
ary morality,  70;  purity  of,  in- 
sisted on  by  Hebrews,  105  f.; 
relation  to  effort  and  achieve- 
ment, 243-6;  relation  to  inten- 
tion, 246-54,  257-8,  261;  hedo- 
nistic theory  of,  criticized,  273, 
288-92;  sympathy  as,  298-300; 
Kantian  view  of,  346-8;  egois- 
tic, 379-80;  altruistic,  385-6;  in 
business,  538,  541  f. 

Naturalism,  ethical,  369-75;  and 
individualism,  in  the  economic, 
525,  532-4;  see  Nature 

Nature,  opposed  to  convention 
among  Greeks,  111  f.;  124-31, 
135;  in  modern  development 
of  rights,  152  f.;  versus  arti- 
ficiality of  society,  221  f.;  see 
Naturalism 

Nemesis,  132,  139 

Newton,  165 

Nietzsche,  82,  122,  370  n. 

Nineteenth  Century,  development 
of  intelligence  in,  163 

Obligations,    186;    and    responsi- 
bility, 440;  and  rights,  441;  see 
Duty 
Opportunity,  equal,  526  f.,  549 
Optimism  and  courage,  412-3 
"  Oregon  case,"  decision  of  U.  S. 

Supreme  Court  in,  540 
Ought,  176;  see  Duty 
Owen,  161 

Paley,  354  n. 
Parsifal,  149 
Parties,  political,  478 


Paul,  his  ethics,  100,  108  f. 

Peace,  as  moral  ideal,  108 

Perfectionism,  231 

Pessimism,  and  courage,  413 

Pindar,  122 

Plato,  on  the  necessity  of  the 
moral  sense,  2;  moral  influence 
of  art,  42;  duty  to  strangers, 
67;  on  measure,  112;  religious 
critic,  116;  on  the  "gentle- 
man," 117;  presents  argu- 
ments of  individualists,  120  ff.; 
on  the  State,  127,  129  f.;  on 
the  good,  131  ff. ;  on  pleasure, 
132  f.;  on  the  ideal,  136  ff.;  on 
the  self,  140;  on  rule  of 
wealthy,  491;  on  private  prop- 
erty,  494 

Pleasure,  good  measured  by, 
among  early  Hebrews,  107; 
Greek  doctrines  of,  125  f.,  132 
f.;  not  the  object  of  desire, 
269-71;  quality,  279,  282,  300; 
relation  to  happiness,  230,  281- 
3;  and  sympathy,  291-2;  con- 
trol of,  407-8 

Police  Power,  505-7,  540  f.,  555  f. 

Pollock  and  Maitland,  460,  576 

Post,  61 

Principles,  179;  nature  of,  333-4; 
as  motives,  350-2 

Problems  of  Moral  Theory,  Chap- 
ter XI.  (211-23);  classified, 
201 ;  214-5,  239,  263,  307 

Production,  moral  cost  of,  489; 
efficiency  of,  in  individualistic 
systems,  527;  regulation  of, 
528  f. 

Property,  in  primitive  groups, 
24-6;  taboo  as  substitute  for, 
55;  as  factor  in  growth  of  in- 
dividualism, 79  f.,  83,  94,  119 
f.;  Plato  on,  130;  the  Church 
on,  146  f.;  and  wealth,  487  f.; 
and  character,  490;  social  as- 
pects of,  491  f.;  private,  and 
social  welfare,  493-5;  implies 
public  service,  515-7;  value  of 
private,  551;  defects  in  pres- 
ent system,  551  ff. 

Prophets,  Hebrew,  99  f. 

Protagoras,  3 

Protestantism,  conception  of 
marriage,  577 


INDEX 


615 


Public  Agency,  theory  of,  535, 
Chapter  XXV. ;  advantages 
claimed  by,  537  fT. 

Public  ownership,  494  f. 

Publicity,  necessity  of,  511  f., 
520   f. 

Punishment,  as  necessitating 
moral  judgment,  96  f.;  evil 
viewed  as  by  Hebrews,  96  f., 
101;  and  duty,  353-5;  and  jus- 
tice, 417;  and  social  welfare, 
442-3;  and  intent,  461;  reform 
of,  470 

Puritans,  conception  of  God- 
given  rights,  152;  of  art,  155; 
emphasized  value  of  work,  156 

Reason,  as  element  in  the  moral, 
10,  12,  40-2;  as  standard 
among  Greeks,  91,  131  f.,  134; 
age  of,  163,  166;  see  Chapter 
XVI.;  defined,  306;  relation  to 
desire,  308;  a  priori  of  Kant, 
310;  is  social,  315;  value  of 
principles,  333;  and  sympathy, 
334;  opposition  to  desire,  338, 
340;  and  virtue,  405;  and  con- 
scientiousness, 418-23 

Religion,  in  early  group  life,  30- 
2;  socializing  force,  81  f.; 
moral  agency  among  Hebrews, 
94-102;  Greek,  115  f.,  139-41; 
ideals  of  mediaeval,  145-7; 
modern  development  of,  148- 
50;  and  customary  morality, 
180;  in  reflective  morality,  195 
ff.;  as  sanction  of  the  family, 
582;  see  Church 

Renaissance,  163  ff. 

Responsibility,  collective,  in 
group  life,  17-20,  63,  70,  102; 
development  of  personal,  104 
f.,  141,  153,  158,  182  f.;  mean- 
ing of,  436-9;  for  accidents, 
458-60;  for  carelessness  and 
negligence,  463-5;  as  affected 
by  modern  economic  conditions, 
500-3,   519    f. 

Reverence,  30  n.,  59,  71,  140,  407 

Revolution,  American,  152;  Eng- 
lish, 151;  French,  152;  Indus- 
trial, 159,  591 

Riehl,  W.,  595 

Right,  as  subject  of  ethics  and 


moral  judgments,  1-3,  37  f., 
201-3,  215,  218,  224,  307  ff.; 
meaning  of,  7  f.,  177,  182  f., 
224  f.;  as  standard,  7,  69,  89, 
97;  among  Hebrews  as  right- 
eousness, 102-4,  109;  among 
Greeks  as  justice,  113  f.,  140; 
see  also  Jural,  Justice,  Law, 
Reason,  Standard 

Righteousness,  typical  theme  in 
Hebrew  morality,  91  f.,  99,  101, 
102  ff.,  109,  188;  as  justice, 
414;  see  Right,  Justice 

Rights,  development  of,  83  ff., 
151  ff.;  natural,  152  f. ;  modern 
assertion  of,  186;  and  freedom, 
440 ;  and  obligations,  441 ;  phys- 
ical, 442-4;  mental,  445-9; 
civil,  452;  contract,  452;  of  as- 
sociation, 453;  to  use  of  courts, 
454;  development  of  civil,  456- 
66;  political,  473-4 

Ritual,  55 

Romanticists,  on  art  and  moral- 
ity, 155 

Rome,  government  and  law,  con- 
tribution to  modern  morality 
of,  142,  152,  218,  222;  patri- 
archal family,  572,  574  f. 

Ross,  E.  A.,  520 

Rousseau,  152  f.,  221 

Rules,  general,  325-35;  and  casu- 
istry, 326-8;  and  legalism,  328- 
9;  utilitarian  view  of,  329-32; 
distinguished  from  principles, 
333-4 

Sanctions,  Bentham's  theory  of, 
354;  internal,  359 

Sceptics,  135,  218 

Schiller,  42;  on  Kant,  349 

Schopenhauer,  82 

Schurtz,  33 

Science,  as  agency  in  effecting 
the  transition  from  custom  to 
conscience,  78-80;  in  Greek  de- 
velopment, 114-9;  in  modern 
period,  155,  167  f.;  influence 
on  morals,  469,  473-6;  as  pro- 
moting justice,  557-9;  and 
family  problems,  593   f.,  601-3 

Seager,  Henry  R.,  programme  of 
social  legislation,  566  ff. 

Secret  societies,  33 


616 


INDEX 


Seebohm,  F.,  29,  61 

Self,  higher  and  lower,  5,  347  f.; 
social,  how  built  up,  11,  86  if.; 
individual  and  tribal  or  clan, 
93  f.;  Greek  conception  of, 
138-41;  the  twofold,  310;  Ar- 
nold on,  338;  Kant  on,  347;  as 
social,  294,  345;  fictitious 
theory  of,  221,  361 ;  theories  re- 
garding its  nature,  see  Chapter 
XVIIL;  self-denial,  364-8; 
self-assertion,  368-74;  self-love 
and  benevolence,  375-91 ;  self- 
realization,  391-4;  see  Individ- 
ual, Self-sacrifice 

Self-sacrifice,  366-8;  cf.  102,  298- 
304,  380-2,  388-91,  393-5 

Seneca,   140 

Sense,  moral,  317-22 

Sex,  groups  on  the  basis  of,  32  f . ; 
as  a  socializing  agency,  47  f.; 
as  prompting  to  self-assertion, 
82;  taboos,  55,  60,  65;  in 
Hebrew  conceptions,  98,  107; 
in  different  standards  for  men 
and  women,  142  ff.;  vices,  82, 
189;  psychology  of,  578-81; 
differences  between  the  sexes, 
584-8 

Shakspere,  23,  62,  97,  154,  197 

Shop,  open  vs.  closed,  559 

Simmons  and  Wigmore,  18 

Sidgwick,  H.,  265  n.,  286 

Sin,  98,  103  f.,  108 

Slav  grpups,  20,  24  f.,  60,  83 

Slavery,  84 

Smith,  Adam,  on  the  formation 
of  conscience,  141;  on  sym- 
pathy,  160;    Theory   of  Moral 

^  Sentiments,  166;  as  individual- 
ist,  525,   527 

Smith,  Arthur,  69 

Smith,  H.  P.,  106 

Smith,  J.  A.,  555 

Smith,  Munroe,  555  f. 

Smith,  W.  Robertson,  29  f. 

Social  Ends,  of  utilitarianism, 
287  (see  Chapter  XV.),  296; 
and  happiness,  302-3;  and  ra- 
tionality, 314;  and  duties,  338, 
345;  and  altruism,  389-90;  and 
individuality,  430 

Socialism,  doctrine  of,  162,  523, 
525  f.,  535;  on  production,  537 


ff.;  in  decision  of  U.  S.  Su- 
preme Court,  556;  see  Public 
Agency,  Collectivism,  Individ- 
ualism 

Socializing  Process  and  Agencies, 
11,  33,  42  f.,  47  f.,  57  ff.,  186, 
191 

Socrates,  5,  116,  118 

Sophocles,  35,  112,  118,  139  f. 

Spahr,  C.  B.,  545 

Spargo,  John,  543 

Speech,  freedom  of,  446 

Spencer  (Baldwin),  and  Gilleh 
(F.  B.),  22,  58  f. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  on  primitive 
morality,  70;  on  nature  and 
morality,  52,  53;  on  conduct  as 
indifferent  and  as  ethical,  205- 
6;  on  feeling  as  ultimate  end, 
225;  on  consequences,  234  n.; 
on  happiness  265  n.;  on  duty, 
358-60;  on  aesthetic  ingredients 
of  happiness,  374  n. ;  on  reward 
and  merit,  515;  on  voluntary 
limitation  of  competition,  532 

Spinoza,  82,  253  n.,  397,  410  n. 

Standard,  right  as,  7;  in  group 
morality,  34;  custom  as,  38,  51 
f.,  61,  69  f.;  law  of  deity  as, 
95-7,  103;  measure  as,  112; 
popular,  in  Greece,  116  f.;  felt 
necessity  of  in  Greece,  118, 
124;  for  pleasure,  132  f.;  the 
"mean"  as,  135  f.;  importance 
of,  138;  utilitarians  confuse 
with  object  of  desire,  266-9; 
why  necessary,  274;  happiness 
as,  275-80;  general  happiness 
as.  Chapter  XV.;  the  rational, 
307;  revision  of,  422;  of  politi- 
cal action,  482-5 

Standard  of  living,  503,  504  n., 
522,  540-2;  Professor  Seager's 
programme  for,  566-70 

State,  the,  early  group  as  germ 
of,  26-30,  61  f.;  as  bearer  of 
moral  ideals  in  Israel,  92  f., 
100,  108  f.;  in  Greece,  127; 
authority  challenged,  118-24; 
Plato  and  Aristotle  on,  127-30; 
and  Church,  146  f.,  150;  moral 
effect  of  organization  of,  194 
f.;  moral  value  of,  434-6;  de- 
fined, 451;  see  Chapter  XXI. 


INDEX 


617 


Stephen,    on   love   of   happiness, 
273;    on    egoism,   378    n.;    also 
265  n. 
Stevenson,  Mrs.  M.  C,  66 
Stoics,  the  "wise  man"  of,  135; 
on    following   nature,    136;    on 
inner    self,    140;    natural    law, 
136,   142,   152,   222;  on  conflict 
between  the  moral  and  the  ac- 
tual order,  185;  cosmopolitan- 
ism,   187;    on   control   of   pas- 
sions,  217 
Sumner,    on     "mores,"     51;     on 
luck,    53;    on    taboo,    55;    on 
Ethos,  175;  gladiatorial  shows, 
189;  on  relation  between  good- 
ness and  happiness,  396  n. 
Sutherland,  48 
Sympathetic  Resentment,  44,  49, 

70;  see  Sympathy- 
Sympathy,  as  factor  in  socializa- 
tion, 11,  35,  44;  fostered  by 
art,  45  f.;  and  family  life,  47 
f.;  and  hospitality,  68;  when 
moral,  49,  70;  in  the  moral 
judgment,  141  n.;  modern  de- 
velopment of,  160  f.;  Ben- 
tham's  view  of,  291-2;  Mill's 
view  of,  293-4;  importance  of, 
298-9;  principle  of  knowledge, 
334;  and  duty,  348-9;  and 
efficiency,  370-3;  and  thought- 
fulness,  465;  see  Sympathetic 
Resentment 

Taboos,  55,  60   f.;   Hebrew,   96; 

survival  of,  in  modern  life,  174 
Tariff,  protective,  560 
Taxation,  555 
Teleological      types      of     moral 

theory,  224;  see  Good,  Value 
Temperance,  405-10;  Greek  view 

of,     117,     406;     Roman,     407; 

Christian,   408 
Theodorus,  126 
Theory,    relation    to    practice,   4, 

212,    606;    types    of,    classified 

and  discussed,  224-39;  see  also 

Problems  ' 

Thomas,  W.,  584 
Thoreau,  489 
Totem  groups,  30 
Torts,  455 
Toynbee,  A.,  492 


Trades  Unions,  see  Labor  Union 

Unearned  Increment,  510  f., 
564  f. 

United  States,  individualism  in, 
554;  Supreme  Court  decisions, 
555  f. 

Utilitarianism,     relation     of,     to 
modern  civilization,  169;  theory      j 
of  intention,  246-52;  theory  of      | 
the  good.   Chapters  XIV.  and 
XV.;    method    of,    275;    intro-      , 
duction  of  the  idea  of  quality,     ' 
\      279;  its  social  standard,  Chap- 
\     ter    XV.;    theory    of    general 
rules,  329-31;  theory  of  duty, 
353-61;  see  also  Bentham,  Mill 

Valuation,  changed  basis  of,  508- 
11;  see  Value 

Value,  as  "higher  and  lower,"  6, 
197;  the  good  as,  7  f.,  12; 
measure  of,  among  Hebrews, 
107  f.;  question  and  standard 
of,  among  the  Greeks,  116,  119, 
125  ff.;  in  modern  civilization, 
153-7,  169,  194;  transformation 
of,  186  f.,  558;  moral,  and  in- 
compatible ends,  207-9;  and 
teleological  theories,  224;  of 
Good  Will,  241 

Veblen,  T.  B.,  488,  515,  592   - 

Vices,  of  reflective  stage  of 
morality,   189   ff. 

Virtue,  230,  397,  Chapter  XIX.; 
origin  of  term,  156,  176;  gen- 
eral meaning,  230,  397;  in 
Greek  popular  usage,  117  f.;  as 
"mean,"  134;  as  wisdom,  135; 
highmindedness  as,  135;  mean- 
ing in  group  morality,  176; 
"old-fashioned,"  188;  defined, 
399-402;  classified,  402-3;  as- 
pects of,  403-4;  cardinal,  405 

Voltaire,  166,  195 

Voluntary  Action,  its  nature,  9 
f .,  201  f . ;  essential  to  morality,  ^ 
12  f.,  39,  49  f.,  73,  89;  agencies 
tending  to  evoke,  57,  75  ff.; 
covenant  as  implying,  95;  fun- 
damental, in  Hebrew  morality, 
91,  105  f.;  relatidn  to  moral 
theories,  227;  divided  into  "in- 
ner" and  "outer,"  227-30;  237- 


618 


INDEX 


9,  261,  432;  place  of  motive  and 
endeavor,  243-6;  place  of  dis- 
position, 254-8;  and  accident, 
459-60;  see  Conduct 

War,  as  agency  in  development, 
42,  44,  66,  84;  and  right  to  life, 
442  f.;  and  organized  human- 
ity, 482 

Wealth,  in  Israel,  93  f.;  in 
Greece,  119  ff.;  and  property, 
487  f.;  subordinate  to  person- 
ality, 514;  should  depend  on 
activity,  514  f.;  implies  public 
service,  515-7;  distribution  of, 
521  f.,  545  ff.;  see  Property 

Welsh,  kin  group,  29,  61 

Wergild,  30,  62 

Westermarck,  67,  70,  459 

"  What,"  the,  meaning  of,  5-8 ; 
in  group  morality,  71;  in 
Hebrew  morality,  102  ff.;  in 
Greek  theory,  125  ff.;  relation 
to  the  "  how  "  as  outer  to  inner, 
228-39;  see  Attitude,  Conse- 
quences, "  How  " 

WUamowitz-Mollendorf,  18 


Windelband,  126 

Wisdom,  as  chief  excellence  or 
virtue  with  Plato,  118;  Aris- 
totle, 135;  Sceptics,  Epicureans, 
and  Stoics,  135;  as  standard 
for  pleasure,  133;  nurse  of  all 
the  virtues,  405;  as  conscien- 
tiousness, 418-23 

Woman,  as  "leisure  class,"  157, 
188;  as  laborer,  protection  for, 
489,  540;  and  the  family,  572 
ff.;  subordination  of,  574  f.; 
her  temperamental  and  occupa- 
tional distinction  from  man, 
584  ff.;  effect  of  industrial 
revolution  upon,  591  f.;  and 
occupations,  594  ff.;  deter- 
mines consumption,  598  f.;  use 
of  higher  training  for,  599, 
602;  see  Family,  Marriage,  Sex 

Work,  see  Industry,  Labor 

Worth,   see   Value 

Wyclif,  150 

Xenophon,  115  f. 
Zuni  ceremonies,  66 


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